


In the face of heartbreak, duty remains

by Teamironmanforever



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Heavy Angst, Higher Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Miscommunication, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Self-Hatred, Slow Build, Slow Burn, aka I am taking bits and pieces from the witcher series and the games and making my own thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teamironmanforever/pseuds/Teamironmanforever
Summary: “Nilfgaard,” Jaskier said finally after what felt like an eternity. “Nilfgaard is going to start a war,” he said, the meaning of Borch’s words slowly becoming more and more clear in his mind. “They’re going to head for Cintra.”The dragon frowned. “Why would that affect you?”“There is someone there who has become very precious to me and whose fate also happens to be tied to the witcher. If she’s in danger… then so will he,” Jaskier said as he stood up, the restless energy trying to suffocate him. “You said something about time… time is slipping… I am running out of time - but to do what?” He rounded on the Dragon, his eyes wild. “What did you see? What do I need to do?”----ORIt may have taken him 20 years, but Jaskier knows where he is not wanted. Now, armed with Borch's prophecy, Jaskier is faced with a choice; either walk away entirely and continue living his placid human life or return home, shed the human façade, retake his duties, protect Cirilla and likely run into the Wticher whose one request was for Jaskier to never cross his path again.He knows what the right choice is. What he doesn't know, however, is how much of him will be left by the time the dust settles.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 130
Kudos: 550





	1. The power of words

**Author's Note:**

> "He was the last thread suspending me in the light. Without him, I can feel myself spiraling downward, falling to a place where I can no longer pull myself back up.”  
> ― Marie Lu

Numbing cold, seeping into his very bones. 

That’s the first thing Jaskier noticed once he reached the now empty camp where he had been left behind earlier that day. The dwarves had left nothing but Jaskier’s belongings in their seemingly hasty departure, probably wanting to catch the remaining daylight to start the trek down the mountain where many a creature hid in the shadows. 

He looked around the empty space, his eyes resting a second too long on the spot where Yennefer’s tent had laid the night before. He had known, from the second they had laid eyes on the sorceress in that blasted tavern, that this entire hunt would go tits up. He just hadn’t realized how badly. 

Still, it had been entirely his decision to trail behind the two on-again off-again lovers, like the pathetic fool he was. It was ironic really; Jaskier pined for Geralt - had been pining for the man for over two decades - while the man pined for the witch who… pined for no one really. Sure, she enjoyed Geralt’s body, but Jaskier had never once believed the woman loved the Witcher - she was too wrapped up in her own selfish desires to feel much of anything for anyone else. ‘

Okay, alright, maybe he was being slightly harsh towards her - it wasn’t like he knew her whole sob story - but his point stood. The woman did not love Geralt - not the way Jaskier had done so for decades. She could not possibly understand the depth and strength of his feelings - not that he was foolish enough to even entertain the thought of telling either her or Geralt. 

No, he had always known those feelings would always go unreciprocated, and he had made his peace with that years ago. Geralt would never love him that way, he understood that as well as he understood that humans need air to breathe. It was simply a fact of life. But Jaskier had always assumed, had always foolishly let himself dream, that Geralt loved him in his own, platonic way. He had assumed that underneath the vitriol and the prickly exterior, the man felt real warmth for him. He had assumed it was at the very least a two-way friendship. 

Clearly he had been wrong. 

And maybe it had been a bit his fault, what with never once trying to show Geralt his true nature. Maybe then Geralt wouldn’t have thought him to be so completely useless that the only thing he was good for was bringing misery to the witcher. Or maybe even then it wouldn’t have mattered, maybe it really was that Geralt simply didn’t like him for him. And wasn’t that a kicker - all he had wanted to do for the past twenty odd years, hell his very life’s purpose had become to make Geralt happy. To make the world a little better for Witchers, to help in small little ways that wouldn’t raise any suspicion. 

He had played at being  _ good,  _ and it still had not been enough. 

He could not contain the tired sigh that escaped him as he picked up his lute and his bag, cursing himself under his breath when he looked back with more than a flicker of hope to see if the witcher had returned to him. Never in his long life had he ever acted more like a love sick fool. 

It wasn’t that this was the first time he fell in love, quite to the contrary he had loved many, one way or another. Geralt, however, was the first man to ever make Jaskier want to settle down. Not in the literal sense; neither of them were meant to stay in one place forever. No, Geralt made him feel the need to settle down  _ with him _ , to form a sacred bond, to tie the witcher to him for the rest of time. And the irreparable and certain loss of the chance of having that, even if he had always known Geralt would likely never see him that way, hurt more than he could put into words. 

Geralt had become more precious to him than blood - and really that should have been his first clue. 

A creature like Jaskier didn’t love often, but when they did, their love was true and as eternal as their lifespan. He knew he could not stop loving Geralt anymore that he could stop being a Higher Vampire. He couldn’t fight his nature, not in that sense anyway. And so this emotional blow was far worse than any other he had felt before. It felt like a sharp physical pain, leaving him cold and broken inside. 

It really was ironic that he, a monster of blood and darkness, had at some point entrusted his heart to a monster-hunter, hoping against hope that said monster-hunter would give Jaskier his own heart in return. As if Geralt could ever love someone - something - like him. Of course, it wasn’t like Jaskier could have done much to avoid him. Traveling with Geralt had been like looking at the moon or the stars in the sky; they took his breath away, but he knew said beautiful celestial bodies would never stare back, would never pay attention to him. And so he had reached into his own chest and carved out his heart and Geralt had taken care of driving a stake through the rotting, bleeding thing, leaving Jaskier broken in a way he wasn’t sure how to repair. 

He really was the fool his father had always complained about. 

Jaskier left the clearing then, not quite noticing he was going the same way they had come until he saw the precarious cliff where his old friend had fallen and had scared the group half to death. Jaskier of course had known the man would be fine, but, just like Borch had kept his secret, he had kept the man’s assured survival to himself. 

Jaskier walked closer to the edge, sitting down carefully as he stared down into the mist. He could wait here and hope Geralt found a different - less harrowing path down - which would ensure he would not come across the man or he could leave now and make the entire trek by foot tonight. Jaskier sighed again. 

He felt so… tired. 

“You smell of heartbreak, old friend,” a familiar voice suddenly said from behind him. 

Jaskier realized he must be well and truly out of it not to have heard the man before this. “Villentretenmerth,” Jaskier said without looking at the old dragon. “I had assumed you would stay with your wife and child.” 

The man hummed. “They are safe for now. I heard your… argument with the witcher. I thought you may want company for a bit.” 

Jaskier turned to smile softly at the man as he came to sit next to the bard. “You have always been far too kind to me.” 

“I seem to recall you helping me a number of times, often at personal cost, over the centuries,” the man reminded him gently. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, knowing sometimes bluntness was the best way forward. 

Jaskier gave him a bitter smile. “I will survive. I always do,” he said, once again looking down at the mist. “I… guess I wasn’t expecting the day to end this way. I have followed him for twenty years. I… I didn’t really think I… he was always telling me how much we weren’t friends and how annoying I was to him but I didn’t think he…” Jaskier’s breath hitched and he snapped his jaw shut, refusing to let more emotions show. 

While he had always had a flair for the dramatic, he never did hold his heart on his sleeve where it counted. His father had beaten that habit out of him when he was but a youngling. Those like him could simply not afford to show real weakness. He could act like a clumsy fool all he wanted, could drink and dance and throw a fit, but tears? That would be admitting he had been so deeply wounded he could actually produce them. 

And in the Pankratz household that simply would not do. 

“You love him,” Borch said calmly. “But you have all the time in the world, my friend, it will pass.” 

“Will it?” Jaskier asked quietly. “I don’t know if it will. I… I have never felt…” Jaskier shook his head. “I didn’t do it consciously, not at first at least but I… I think he’s it, Villentretenmerth. I have never given as much of myself as I gave him, and in such a short period of time too.” 

Borch looked stricken at that. “Julian…” 

“I know, I know,” Jaskier said as he scrubbed his face. “It was… foolish, to put it mildly.” 

“Perhaps you ought to talk to him,” Borch suggested gently.

Jaskier shook his head. “You heard him, didn’t you? He doesn’t ever want to see me again. And… well, who am I to deny him his one blessing?” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice but he knew it was a doomed effort. “Besides, the fool went and tied his fate to that psychotic witch whom he loves,” Jaskier said, squeezing his eyes shut as jealousy, pain, and rage fought against his straining control. 

The dragon sighed. “They’re a… chaotic match,” Borch said quietly. “They will cause each other a lot of pain if they don’t-” 

“Well that’s their choice isn’t it? No one held a sword to his throat to get him to fuck her  _ after  _ the crazy witch almost killed herself and brought down a house with her.” 

“I take it you don’t like her much,” Borch said drily, unable to hold back a small smile at his friend’s antics. 

“You know the worst part is that maybe, under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded her,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper as the admission made his skin itch. 

“What will you do now?” the dragon asked, changing the topic for the sake of his friend’s comfort. 

If anything, Jaskier seemed more uncomfortable now. “I don’t know,” he admitted, biting his lips. “Could you… could you take a look for me? I would appreciate some guidance right now.” 

Borch sighed, clearly not too happy with the request but he complied. He grabbed Jaskier by the hand and closed his eyes. The very air around them seemed to shift as Borch pulled on his magic, tethering his sight through Jaskier’s touch. 

“The fires of war have begun to brew. It will burn everything and everyone in its path. At the eye of the storm, those who hold the pieces of your heart will be found. The time is slipping, each day dragging them a step closer to the fire…” The man cut off abruptly, snapping out of his trance. He took a big gulp of air and let go of the vampire who had gone stock still. 

Both remained quiet, looking at each other with a hint of apprehension at the revelation. 

“Nilfgaard,” Jaskier said finally after what felt like an eternity. “Nilfgaard is going to start a war,” he said, the meaning of Borch’s words slowly becoming more and more clear in his mind. “They’re going to head for Cintra.” 

The dragon frowned. “Why would that affect you?” 

“There is someone there who has become very precious to me and whose fate also happens to be tied to the witcher. If she’s in danger… then so will he,” Jaskier said as he stood up, the restless energy trying to suffocate him. “You said something about time… time is slipping… I am running out of time - but to do what?” He rounded on the Dragon, his eyes wild. “What did you see? What do I need to do?” 

The dragon stood up and placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. “You know my ability to look into the future is tenuous at best. I can see glimpses, possible scenarios. Nothing is set in stone Jaskier. I cannot tell you what to do.” 

“He may hate me, but I will not let him or his child surprise die. I cannot do that.” 

“You will need more power than what you currently possess if you want to steer the strings of fate in war,” Borch said gently. “As you are right now, you won’t succeed.” 

Jaskier froze at that and looked up at his friend. “You mean-” 

“I have heard whispers that your father has been selected to ascend. I do not have much more information than that, but perhaps it’s a sign… perhaps it’s time you went back home  _ my lord. _ ” 

A manic laugh bubbled out of Jaskier, spilling into the space between them like blood spraying out of an artery badly cut into. Jaskier clung to the dragon, whose eyes he refused to meet because he did not want to see the pity or the worry likely hiding in their depths. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier said as he slowly crouched, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. “Half a century… half a century II have been out of that place. You know I actually thought - I thought I could finally leave all that behind. But that’s just not my lot in life is it? No… I have been running from destiny too long, like a foolish child who has never encountered her or her wims.” Jaskier chuckled, the sound dark and broken. “Well at least it’s not like there’s anything left for me here. Not if I truly want to give the Witcher his blessing.” 

"You don't have to go back," The dragon gently reminded him. 

"Oh but I do," Jaskier whispered brokenly. "He may have never seen me as a friend but I have loved that stubborn oaf of a man for twenty years - and I have loved his child surprise from the day her mother put her in my arms as a babe." 

Borch could not prevent his brows rising to his hairline in shock. "Does he know you have established and maintained contact with his child? Because based on what he said to Yennefer-" 

"No, of course he does not know. And it doesn't matter now. I cannot leave either of them to die. I could never live with myself." Jaskier stood up, a calm resignation covering his features like a mantle of snow. “I guess it’s time I face the music.” 

Jaskier took off his lute and extended his arms towards Borch in offering. "Would you take care of this for me, Villentretenmerth? Maybe teach your daughter how to play so it can bring her and those around her joy when she grows." 

The man took the lute gently, knowing the importance behind the gesture. This was the only thing left connecting Jaskier to his life with Geralt, to his life as a wandering bard. Leaving it for Borch to keep it, safeguard it, meant that Jaskier was passing on a representation of his treasure to one of the oldest dragons left alive. It was a great show of friendship and trust, mixed of course with a twinge of sadness as it also made him a witness to the closing of a chapter.

"Are you going directly?" 

Jaskier hummed. "There is someone I would like to give my farewells to before that," he admitted quietly, his eyes unseeing. 

Broch nodded. "I should return to my family," Borch said as he gently hung the lute to his back. "I promise to keep this safe for the rest of my days," he said, under no allusions that Jaskier's choice would ever let him return to being a simple bard traveling the continent. "Safe travels, my friend." 

"Farewell, my darling Villentretenmerth. Give my love to your mate and child and, if it ever strikes your fancy, come visit when the dust settles." 

The two hugged tightly, knowing that it would likely be at least another 20 years before they saw one another again. In a way, that had been both one of the most reassuring and most terrifying parts of their friendship. They had met centuries ago, when they were both still young and far too green in the ways of the world. It had been a chance meeting, in one of the many times Jaskier had run away from home to get away from all the responsibility. He had thought he would never see the dragon again, especially once he heard reports of humans hunting down dragons indiscriminately, but Borch remained when many of his kind disappeared. Every time they met it was a balm for the vampire’s restless mind and every time they parted it broke his heart a little with worry. Still, thus far every two to four decades they would find each other again, always in the unlikeliest of places. 

It comforted Jaskier in ways that few things could, to know he had a friend roaming the world whom he could always rely on to find him one way or another.

With a last gentle squeeze Jaskier let go and jumped across the broken boards to the other side of the thin path. He walked quickly, purposefully, knowing that he had already wasted enough time if he wanted to make it to the main path before sundown. 

Jaskier walked and walked, quiet for the first time in decades. He had never liked the silence, had always tried to fill it with music and conversation. But right now, with his heart broken and his pride bruised, he welcomed the silence. It was strange, before Geralt he had been alone for almost thirty years wandering the continent. He was used to loneliness; even when he had lived in his father’s house, he had always felt alone. 

And yet the loneliness felt more acute now than ever before. Perhaps it was because with Geralt he had felt whole in what felt like the first time in his life, or perhaps it was because the wound was so fresh, but, regardless, he had never felt as alone as he was now. 

He reached the mouth of the mountain as the last bit of sunlight kissed the sky, breathing in the light breeze which signaled the coming night chill. He did not stop until Roach was in sight. He wasn't sure if Geralt had decided to camp or walk through the night, but either way he could not risk it. He did not want to meet the man again and risk more of his ire. He was hurting enough as it was. 

Geralt's horse neighed once her eyes landed on him, for once happy to see him. Jaskier couldn't help but smile, ignoring the way his heart clenched painfully at the knowledge this was likely the last time he would see the horse. 

He pulled out a couple of carrots from his bag as he reached her side, giving her the treats as he pet her mane. "Hello, you beauty. You're a sight for sore eyes my dear," he cooed softly, chuckling as the horse butted his chest softly in acknowledgement. "You truly are the most magnificent horse and I will miss you so," he whispered as he rested his forehead against her snout. "You have always been far better company than me so I doubt he'll give you the boot. Take care of that brute for me, will you?"

With that Jaskier took a step away, swallowing down the knot in his throat. Roach huffed out a noise, pulling at her reins in an attempt to move from where Geralt had left her to follow Jaskier. She clearly did not understand why her master was not with the bard, nor did she understand why the man was suddenly leaving. It broke Jaskier’s heart to see her fighting so hard to follow his retreating form, likely thinking he was going after Geralt. Or maybe, just maybe, this once she was pulling because she was worried for the bard. 

It was highly unlikely, but Jaskier could dream. 

Once Jaskier could not stand the pain a second longer, he turned around and broke into a run, hiding himself in the woods bordering the mountain. His figure soon began blurring as he allowed his true nature to peek out from under the veil he had covered it with on his travels with the Witcher. He ran freely, the slowly descending darkness greeting him like an old friend. 

He lost track of time as he ran, intent on setting as much distance between himself and the cursed mountain Jaskier was fairly sure he would not allow himself to set foot in for the next few centuries at least. He ran the entire night and did not stop running until the scenery began to change and the sun began to rise. 

He took a look around, taking in the more coastal surroundings. It seemed he was getting closer and closer to Blaviken, which, truly, was the height of irony. 

It seemed even in his effort to avoid the witcher he could not get away from the man whose story had made a home in Jaskier’s very skin. A part of him wanted to stop, have a drink or fifty and maybe have a bite of blood - which, fuck he hadn’t donen in over twenty years - in order to be drunk enough to even remotely begin to handle the pain in his heart. 

“Get your shit together, Jaskier,” he growled at himself as he fixed his doublet and cracked his neck.

If Borch was right and war was coming, he had no time to lose whining about could have beens. Geralt did not want him and he certainly did not want anything to do with Destiny which left his sweet innocent Ciri in a precarious position. He had no doubt that if war broke out Geralt would try to find the child, if only due to a sense of duty and his morals, but Jaskier knew there was a possibility the man would be too late by then. 

No, Jaskier had to act now, had to move the pieces in order to ensure her survival. And if one day this meant Geralt would be forced to see Jaskier again due to his connection with Cirilla, well the bard could only promise to put enough distance then to protect Ciri from the shadows where Geralt could not be annoyed by him again. 


	2. Betting against the house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is a price for everything in life. Even what you receive freely has already been paid for by someone.”  
> ― Sunday Adelaja

The smell of freshly baked bread, thyme and fresh manure hit Jaskier long before he actually reached the town, prompting him to smile softly in sheer relief. While he had made a tactical stop in Blakiven - to buy less conspicuous clothing and some food for the road - he had not stopped in a single town since then. 

It wasn’t that he was trying to avoid Geralt, given the man’s natural perchance to avoid staying in towns whenever possible. If anything, Jaskier had been more worried about the possibility of staying in the same forest as Geralt given that that would have forced the vampire to circumvent the area to give the witcher his blessed peace. And, really, setting his heartbreak aside, Jaskier was still a fucking  _ Higher Vampire _ , he had  _ some  _ pride dammit. It had bothered him to no end to even think of the possibility of having to, yet again, bend over backwards in order to please the witcher. Despite having made a fool of himself for twenty consecutive years following the witcher like a lost puppy when his company hadn’t even been wanted, he did have some self respect. At some point he had to stop putting what he thought were the witcher’s needs as his top priority. 

No, the real reason why he had avoided towns on his way back to Lettenhove was because, after twenty years, Jaskier the Bard had become a bit too popular for what he now had to do. He needed to disappear, as quietly and smoothly as possible, and transition back into the life he had hoped never to return to. He needed to make sure people didn’t start asking too many questions about where the witcher’s bard had popped off to; maybe he needed to make up a tragic death story to get the news to spread faster. He needed to make sure his return home would raise no suspicion, especially if he wanted to convince Calanthe to go along with his idea. 

Jaskier sighed softly, sticking to backstreets and the more shaded parts of the town as he made his way to the imposing property sitting at the other side of town - so large that even at this distance it was clearly visible. Soon enough, he made it within the range of the wards, and felt the hair on his arms stand on edge, sensing the chaos swirling around him. He had never been too fond of witches and their chaos magic - which was yet another reason he had certainly not been fond of Yennefer - and not matter how much he logically understood this particular set of wards had no power to harm him, he still did not feel any less unease when near them. 

Perhaps it was because he knew that the wards would immediately alert his parents as to his imminent arrival, taking away the possibility of getting his shit together before seeing them again. 

True enough, before he could even make it to the main gate, two men appeared seemingly out of nowhere, nails and fangs out. Jaskier smiled at them, putting on his showman persona like a second skin. “Gentlemen! How good of you to come aid me, and so quickly too. I see the service here is as top notch as it was last I was here. Truly, finding my way to my father’s study would have been nigh impossible without your ever so helpful selves.” 

Both men seemed too shocked to answer, looking at Jaskier as if they had seen a ghost. Jaskier, not one to look a gift in the horse’s mouth, gave them one last nod and with a quick “As you were” continued on his way, closing the door firmly on their faces. 

He did not look back to check whether or not the two men followed; he was sure they would find an alternative route to warn his parents their lost - and only - son had come home. Whether anyone thought him being back was a good thing was an entirely separate matter, of course. 

Jaskier did not stop until he was close enough to his parents’ chambers to hear their voices. He hesitated for a second; if he could hear them then they soon would hear him too, and then it would all go to shit. 

Taking a fortying breath, Jaskier closed his eyes and continued walking. He knocked on the door once before letting himself in; there was no point keeping up the niceties when he was absolutely sure neither party wanted this encounter to happen. 

“Mother, Father,” he said as he opened and then closed the door behind him, feeling a wiggling sense of satisfaction at the gobsmacked expressions so wonderfully displayed on both his parents' faces. 

It took his father almost an entire minute for the sock to give way to anger and by consequence give way to his voice. “You dare waltz in here after almost five decades, and that is all you have to say?” 

“I was under the impression one started with a greeting after not seeing someone in an arguably long time. I am sure, had I not said hello, you would be giving me shit for that too, so I am not going to apologize for greeting you,” Jaskier said with a roll of his eyes, standing a little taller to look at his father in the eye. “I am here to negotiate.” 

After a second the man laughed, the sound cold and slightly deranged. “Negotiate? And what exactly gave you the impression I would ever be willing to negotiate with you?” 

“The fact that you need me to take your position in order for you to ascend,” Jaskier responded calmly, holding back a triumphant smile at the anger in his father’s eyes. 

“That is your  _ duty _ , not a favor to me. It is a birthright which you have squandered your entire life and it is a position you have no respect for. What the hell is there to negotiate?” 

“And I can continue to squander it for another century or more if I so choose. You already know my stance on this life you all seem to have chosen _ for me _ . However, we both know I would be brilliant at it if I  _ choose _ to apply myself to the task at hand. And, I am willing to negotiate my conditions.” 

His father regarded him with those ice cold, calculating eyes of his, scenting the air. “You smell of heartbreak,” he noted after a few moments, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He moved slowly, like a predator circling his prey. “Should I take that to mean you have found your mate?” 

Jaskier tensed; he had known his father would be able to sense it, but he had not expected it to be so fast. Hell, he had not noticed this fast and he was the idiot that had fallen in love in the first place. “I fell in love during my travels, yes.” 

“Ah, I see, and they did not love you back - or at least not enough to put up with you for eternity,” his father concluded, the ghost of a smirk tainting his otherwise expressionless face. "I did tell you it was foolish to leave, but never did I expect you to do something this stupid. You realize what this means, don't you?" 

“I don’t see how this conversation is relevant. I came here to negotiate, not talk about my love life,” Jaskier said in a clipped tone. His feelings over what had happened with Geralt were still far too raw, and he knew his father would exploit that if Jaskier gave the man any openings. Besides, the last thing he needed was his father lecturing him on the consequences of his actions; he knew very well what his future looked like, thank you kindly. He didn't need his father to spell it out because once he said it aloud, once he spoke it into existence, then Jaskier would be forced to reckon with it, and he was not ready. 

His father, likely sensing his son's internal turmoil, sat down with a sigh and motioned for Jaskier to do the same across the desk. The younger vampire complied, his movements elegant and measured in a way they had not been in a long time. He hated himself for it, but a part of him would always be that little boy that wanted to impress his father. It had taken him an unfortunate amount of years to realize that that was not possible. 

But that was neither here not there at the moment. 

“I am willing to return home, go through with the ceremony, and take over your duties as count. I am also willing to act like a good little boy and resume some of my duties as your enforcer - I imagine you will be needing one now more than ever given the role you so covet. I have four very simple requests," Jaskier said, trying to sound far more innocent than he had ever been. 

His father, never to be taken for a fool, merely hummed, his eyes narrowed. “I am sure they are anything but simple,” his father said after a long moment, making Jaskier want to squirm. The man's face was entirely neutral, but Jaskier could swear there was a glimmer of pride in the bastard's eyes; a glimmer which Jaskier did not want to consider too closely. Darius Alfred Pankratz had not raised a fool, after all. “Name your price, Julian.” 

Jaskier took a deep breath, willing to calm his racing heart. “There is a young girl, living in the human world, whom I care a great deal for, and there is a war coming. I don't know when exactly, but it will come," the younger vampire said with conviction. "A golden dragon has prophesied that she shall be in great danger, and it is my wish that she be protected. I can weave a lie through the minds of the peasants here, claim her as my daughter and protect her in plain sight, but I will need the elders to give me blood rights over her, so that I can do  _ whatever it takes  _ to keep her safe.” 

His father straightened up at that. Like the good predator he was, he could smell blood in the water when it appeared. “Who is this girl? And what role does she play? I assume she holds some stature if the war will directly affect her. More importantly, why would you care about any human affairs?” 

Jaskier swallowed hard, knowing that as much as he wanted to lie, he needed an honest bind from his father here, which meant he himself had to be honest or this wouldn't work. He knew how his father worked; he always kept his word, but the man was fantastic at finding loopholes. Thus, if he wanted the man to honor his commitment, he would need to find the perfect wording for their deal. “Her first name is Cirilla; I am sure you have heard of her. She is the lion cub of Cintra.” 

His father’s brows rose to his hairline and stayed there. Clearly, he had not been expecting that. “Well, it seems you have certainly been busy making friends with the high and mighty of the mortal realm. Such a curious way to spend your time; well that, and apparently spending time with a witcher.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, not willing to rise to the bait. He was not surprised that his father had kept tabs on him, and he knew the man was saying that to offset him, make Jaskier thing the man knew more than he actually did. He could not let himself falter now. “Her safety is not conditional. I need a guarantee that the elders will see her as my own and will allow me to protect her by any means necessary.”

“Any is quite a broad word, Julian. "Any" could bring the vampire clan into a war with the humans. We have not been this reckless in thousands of years,” his father warned. "It is unlikely that they would be willing to go to such lengths for a human." 

“I do not wish to engage the humans in war. If all goes to plan, they won’t even know she’s here. I will bring her hidden and she will pass as my daughter - that is until the threat is gone,” Jaskier argued. "I wish a guarantee that they will stand beside me if I must protect her, but I will avoid war at all costs." 

The vampire hummed, looking contemplative. “List all of your demands. I would like a clear picture before I agree to anything.” 

Well, that had not been a no. 

"My second demand is also one for protection. Though of a more… covert sort. There is a witcher - the one whom I assume you know I traveled with - whose fate is tied to Cirilla. If any of our own is ever near him, and he is in danger, I wish for him to be protected. Preferably in such a manner that ensures he does not notice. Our influence runs deep; let him live better than he has thus far, and help me by aiding him when possible." 

"A most curious request," his father noted dryly. "Why would you want to protect a Witcher? Their very creation is meant to serve the purpose of hunting monsters. They are not weak - not like your little princess. Besides, no witcher has ever been protected by one of our own. If anything the amount of vampires lesser than us that they've killed would make them our enemies." 

"He is not my enemy, or rather, I am not his. I am not asking them to die for him. I am asking that they use their considerable powers to ensure he is safer than he is now, particularly with the coming war. Deep down, he is a good man, and one day Cirilla will likely end up living with him. I want them both to be as safe as reasonably possible so that he may have the chance to know his child and she may have the opportunity to gain a parent," Jaskier admitted honestly, not quite meeting his father's eyes. 

The man did not comment, instead saying "And your third request?" 

“I know as count I will have less freedom of movement, but I cannot live as confined as you do. I enjoy _ experiencing _ the outside world, and I believe remaining connected to the human world is extremely valuable. Thus, I ask that I be allowed to, on occasion, to pass on my duties to my sister for a few months at a time in order to travel," Jaskier said, trying to keep the desperation off his voice. Desperation made him an easy target, and he could not be that, not here. "Lastly, I wish to do away with the customary period of thirty years to enter the pool of sorrows. If a war is to come, I need access to a bigger source of natural power." 

His father tilted his head and regarded Jaskier closely. "I wonder, does your fondness for this girl stem from your desperate love for the Witcher?" 

Jaskier's heart almost stopped; that was the one thing he had hoped his father not to see. 

He forced himself to roll his eyes, playing his father's game like he used to all those years ago. "I really would rather listen to Valdo Marx sing than hear your running commentary on my private life. Those are my conditions - and I am not willing to bend on any of them. Give me what I want, and I will go back to being your good little pet or refuse and I can fuck right out of this castle and you will not see me again for a few centuries." 

The older vampire pinched his nose. "You have always been my firstborn. My  _ only _ son, so stop with your melodramatics we only ever wanted the best for you. You are not my pet; you are my heir. It is you who refuses to see your own potential." 

"I am surprised you were able to say that with a straight face," Jaskier snarked, not giving in an inch. "Do we have a deal, or not, father? I am not going to bend on any of my conditions." 

"I cannot give you an answer immediately, not if you want me to be truthful. Most of what you want goes beyond a simple yes or no from me. It will take me at least a week in order to ensure I can grant your… requests, though I am sure some modifications will be needed" his father warned. 

Jaskier hummed, not quite ready to agree to any modifications. If he gave an inch, his father would take a mile. "You know how to contact me," he said as he left a small pendant on his father's desk. "Use it when you have an answer." 

"Will you not be staying?" His father asked, though there was no real surprise in his voice. 

"I am not staying until you can guarantee my requests will be met. There's some arrangements I need to make to ensure I can bring the princess with me safely. Once you're ready to make a deal, I will return and perform whatever ceremonies are needed to get this over and done with. If not then I will find another way to keep her safe." 

"Your love for your family really drips off you," his father remarked sarcastically.

"Oh I'm sorry, I hadn't realized you developed the capacity to feel anything other than self-centered love all of a sudden. How cruel of me," Jaskier said as he walked to the door. "I trust you will not fall back on old ways and try to deceive your way out of this deal. You will not like the consequences if you do," Jaskier warned, his voice sounding unnaturally deep.

"Is that a threat, son?" His father said with a smile, his fangs on display. 

Jaskier gave back as good as he got. "It's a promise." 

* * *

"There are whispers of a heartbroken bard who now travels alone around the continent," a soft, sweet voice said, making Jaskier jump out of his reverie. "I wonder if he will make it to the winter." 

"My darling Josie," the vampire said with a smile as he all but dropped his quill and paper to run and hug the woman. He twirled her around, her laughter a balm to his wounded heart. 

"It's been far too long, brother," she said as she squeezed him tightly to her, running a hand through his wild hair. "I was beginning to fear I would not see you again for a century at least," she protested, punching him softly on his chest to make a point. 

“A century would have been too short a time for staying away from father and mother - but I did miss you so my darling,” Jaskier said before kissing her forehead, leaning away to get a good look at his sister. “I trust all is well? Any new paramours I should know about?” 

“I think I should be the one asking you that,” she pointed out. “Your songs made it seem like you were very taken with the witcher you were travelling with, what happened?” 

Jaskier’s smile turned brittle and he let go of his sister, looking away. “I overstayed my welcome - not that I had any to begin with,” he quipped, struggling to keep up a facade with his sister. 

Jocelyn frowned, able to spot Jaskier's change in mood without any physical queue. “You traveled with him for, what, twenty years? I am sure if he hadn’t wanted your company he would have said so.” 

“Oh he did, many times over. I just never thought he meant it until…” Jaskier shook his head, his eyes turning glassy as the memory of that cursed mountain overtook him. “The point is, we have parted ways - for good this time - at his request.” 

“And why are you now spreading sad sonnets all around the continent?” She asked curiously, coming to sit on his makeshift desk. 

“Nothing gets past your knowing eyes, hmm?” Jaskier said with a sad smile and sharp eyes. He crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall. “You are wasted in this land, darling. You should have become a spymaster.” 

"Don't change the subject _darling_ , I can smell there's a story here and I would like to know what foolish plan you have concocted to see if I need to talk you out of it," She said with a smile that promised pain if she didn't get the whole story right now. 

Jaskier sighed. His sister was as stubborn as him when she wanted to be. "It's not foolish Jocelyn, it's necessary. I need to ensure they know I am no longer travelling with the Witcher. As you yourself said, everyone and their mother could see how much I… " he bit his lip, looking uncomfortable. "Well my songs were rather obvious and no one will believe it if songs just stop appearing, so I need to continue on with the theme of love, but this time it has to be heartbreaking tunes." 

She hummed, swinging her legs back and forth. "And what's the purpose of making sure people know you no longer travel with the Witcher?" 

"Jaskier needs to disappear, so that there is no way for Nilfgaard to trace me back to our lands. Jaskier the bard and Count Julian Alfred Pankratz cannot be connected, or the child I wish to hide will be in danger," Jaskier pressed, leaning heavily on the oakwood desk. 

"My, my, never did I think I would willingly see you taking on a child," she teased. "You're becoming soft in your old age." 

Julian chuckled. "What can I say? Some promises should not be broken." 

She hummed, knowing there was yet another story there, but not seeming as pressing. "how exactly will you spread these songs far enough? You're not going to be out there to sing them." 

"I have bardic friends more than willing to make coin off of my songs. They know they must announce it as mine, but they are then allowed to profit from it" Jaskier shrugged, giving her a conspiratorial wink. "People do little but waggle their tongues. It will be old news soon enough," the older vampire reasoned before he pushed away from the wall and began pacing around the room. 

"And I assume you are going to stage your death once the songs have made their rounds," Jocelyn concluded, her shrewd eyes never leaving her brother's form. 

Jaskier froze for a second - a second too long - before resuming his pacing. "I am unsure yet if such measures will be necessary, but yes, if needed that's the plan" Jaskier said with a shrug. "Perhaps just news of an early retirement in the coast, or a change of career will suffice. It may even work better to spread news of my death without any proof. It will make it harder to track me if people heard I died but don't know where to find the body."

"Tell me, brother, have you considered that your Witcher may hear of these news too?" His sister asked softly, tilting her head to the side. There was no judgement in her voice, there never was, but the question was poignant nonetheless. 

"He's not my anything, Jocelyn" Jaskier replied cuttingly, looking tense. "And, yes, I did consider it. I don't see how it would affect him. If anything it may make him happy to know that the one blessing he asked of the universe was granted," Jaskier ended, sounding far more bitter than he wanted. 

His sister hummed, her brows raising in surprise. If she felt anger towards the Witcher, she did not show it. "Are you entirely sure you will never meet again?"

"The child is tied to him, so it's actually likely at some point in time fate will make it so that they meet. I hope by then Cirilla will be grown enough that I am not around to see him when they meet and she can choose to go off with him on her own," Jaskier said, his back to his sister. Even he could hear the weakness in that plan. 

"And if she's not?" His sister pressed, ruthlessly, as always exposing his delusions. 

"Then I will be in the uncomfortable position to hand the child over if that is what he wants, as he has more of a claim on her than I ever will, and then I will make sure to end the interaction as quickly as possible." Jaskier screwed his eyes shut, feeling exhausted. 

"He may not take it kindly if he finds out you were lying about your status amongst the world of the living," she reasoned. "You may want to let him know you are not dead, Julian - if you choose that as your story, that is." 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. "The worst that can happen is he will feel guilty - gods know he is extremely proficient at blaming himself for things that he had no hand in bringing about. But guilt is fickle and will eventually die out. He will be fine. Besides, my priority now is the Witcher's child surprise," Jaskier argued, as obstinate as ever. In truth he had considered contacting Geralt, and had promptly dismissed the idea. 

If he contacted the man he would have to explain why he was in a position to protect Cirilla, he would have to reveal all his lies, and, more importantly, he would have to once again force his presence - however symbolic - on the witcher. He just couldn't do that again; he owed it to the man and to himself. He refused to keep beating on a dead horse; Geralt didn't want him around, then Jaskier would not be around. His life was his own again, as were his choices. 

"So he broke your heart, and yet you're still doing everything in your power to help him," his sister commented, her eyes knowing. 

Jaskier glared at the woman, swallowing back a hiss only because he was sure she would likely jump him if he dared. "I am doing this for Cirilla, not for him." 

"Oh I am sure you wish to protect the child, but don't lie to yourself brother; a part of you hopes that by protecting her, you will be protecting him. And a part of you, no matter how deep and buried you keep it, hopes that through her you will see him again," Jocelyn concluded, moving away from his desk and towards the door. 

Jaskier growled at her before she left the room, wanting to throttle the woman. Still, he did not contradict his annoying little sister. Because, damn her, she was probably more right than Jaskier would ever be willing to admit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will definitely have some Original characters, as we don't know much of anything about Jaskier's family! Hope you enjoy


	3. hindsight is a wonderful thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.”  
> ― Charles Dickens

It took Geralt almost two days and the whole walk down the mountain to realize just how much of an ass he had been to Jaskier. A part of him - a part he didn't even know existed - had half expected the man to be there at the camp after their fight and had later expected to find Jaskier at the foot of the mountain with Roach, a jab at the ready as retaliation for Geralt’s stupidity. 

Of course, the man hadn't been there, and Geralt could hardly blame him. He had been the one that had cursed Jaskier's name and had driven him away without so much as a by your leave. He had been hurting over his broken heart and he had taken it out on the only person who had ever seen him past the mighty Witcher facade, had seen all his flaws, and had stayed anyway. Jaskier had never judged him, but Geralt had judged the bard, and had done so harshly. 

Jaskier had been a conundrum from the day Geralt had met the man. Young and fresh faced, the idiot had decided to follow a witcher of all things. A stupid, stupid decision, made worse by the boy's excitement and naivite. He had had his entire life ahead of him, and he had made the decision to follow a walking death omen even after experiencing quite the beating both at Geralt’s hands and at the hands of the elves that had captured them. It had made absolutely no sense, had driven Geralt up the wall. He had wracked his brain looking for an explanation, but Jaskier had never made any sense to him. 

For the first two years, Geralt had assumed each hunt would be the last, that Jaskier would finally realize how stupid his decision had been and would leave and every hunt the bard would smile at him like there was no tomorrow and ask a ridiculous number of questions about what exactly Geralt had gotten up to despite the fact that he knew Geralt was a bad conversationalist at the best of times. Jaskier had stayed by his side, year after year, despite the monsters, despite Geralt’s vocal unwillingness to have a companion, despite the lack of fancy inns and often lack of palatable food. Jaskier had become a fixture in Geralt’s life at some point without the Witcher’s approval and without his explicit notice. And then, finally, one day Geralt had come to the horrifying - and yet relieving - conclusion that Jaskier wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what. He had become as sure of the fact that the bard would be there as he was of the strength of his swords. 

A ridiculous conclusion to reach, but a true one nonetheless. 20 years the bard had followed him through it all, no matter how rough their environment got or how difficult a hunt turned. 

And yet here they were now, Geralt’s own words finally having achieved what no monster trying to kill Jaskier had been able to do; drive the bard away for good. 

Roach seemed to sense something was wrong as Geralt approached, moving restlessly from side to side as she looked behind Geralt, as if looking for someone else. Geralt clenched his jaw and tried very hard not to think too much about  _ who  _ it was that his horse was looking for, when she was notorious for her dislike of anyone that wasn’t Geralt. Roach, as always, made Geralt’s goal quite difficult as she refused to go in the direction the man was trying to move her towards, instead trying to pull him towards the woods, as if looking for something. 

“What on earth has gotten into you?” Geralt asked quietly as he continued trying to pull her away from the woods. “Roach, there’s no one there. What are you looking for?” 

The horse seemed determined to see it for herself, however, for she huffed in annoyance and pulled harder against Geralt’s hold. She neighed, pulling relentlessly - as if Geralt was the dense one.The witcher rolled his eyes and finally allowed her to lead, listening closely for any sounds of monsters approaching. He had no idea why Roahc wanted to go into the forest, but he trusted his horse more than almost anyone. If she wanted to head into the forest, then something must have unsettled her enough to want to go there willingly. 

As predicted there was no one immediately visible and Geralt could not hear any sounds which would indicate a human presence, but there were old footprints, at least a day old, on the still wet ground. They were unmistakably human. Someone  _ had  _ been there, and it was clear Roach had seen them enter, for she was looking around, unsettled, as if someone was simply hiding from her sight. She was clearly growing frustrated at the fact that no one was coming forward. 

_ Jaskier.  _

Geralt’s heart leapt to his mouth as the horrible realization that Jaskier must have come down and seen Roach before leaving hit him. Roach had seen someone go into the woods. Jaskier had come down before him, apparently at a great pace for he had reached Geralt’s horse almost a day before Geralt himself. It was the only explanation that made sense; Roach would not be this unsettled for anyone else. While Geralt wouldn't say the horse loved the human, she certainly was used to him, and seeing him dissapear into a monster-infested forest had likely set her off like nothing else as she waited for Geralt to come down. 

But what had possessed the bard to come down so quickly? The path was precarious at best, not something that should have been rushed, least of all by a human. A fragile human, who did not have Geralt's ability to see clearly at night, who did not have a witcher's strength, speed or stamina. A human who would smell fantastic to any monster passing through the zone. A human who was easily distracted by nature, and would likely not even notice a monster approaching. 

_ Fuck.  _

Geralt had let him walk away; had all but forced him to walk back down without any help or guidance, had left a human to descend a mountain where a dragon had fallen and would have died had it not been for its true nature. He had doomed his bard, who had somehow managed to make it down alive - and by the gods Geralt hoped the man hadn't walked into the forest injured or worse - but the idiot had then decided to tempt fate again and had gone into a monster infested forest. 

Why the fuck had Jaskier gone into the forest? 

Geralt felt sick to his core. 

He guided Roach deeper into the forest, following the fainting footprints left on the moist ground. He followed the trail for a number of hours, in the end losing it once the footprints went past the edge of the forest and back onto the road. Curiously, Jaskier had returned to the road at the oddest of spots, for it was nowhere near a town and therefore more dangerous than the very edge of the forest, where he could hide from bandits more easily. He had done the exact opposite of what Geralt had taught him over the years in their travels, which meant the bard had either done it out of spite or had been far too distracted to even notice where the fuck he was going. 

It troubled Geralt not to have a way to immediately find the troubadour, a way to ensure he was still safe. He could follow the road and stop at the nearest town to check and see if Jaskier was there. Chances were, even if he had moved on from there, they could let him know if he had passed by there, thus allying Geralt’s fear. It would take some more hours, but at this point he was starting to feel a little desperate to find the bard. 

With his mind made up, he steered Roach to move up the road, forcing himself to remain calm in the face of uncertainty. Maybe the gods had been kind to Jaskier after Geralt had failed to be; maybe he was safe and his impudence of crossing a monster-infested forest and then a dangerous road alone had ended in nothing more than a tale for a song. 

It was a feeble dream at best, he knew, but he would cling to it until there was proof otherwise, because he was not sure he could stomach any other truth at the moment. 

* * *

Jaskier was not in the next town, or in the one after that. Four days later, all they could tell him was that a traveller from Blaviken had seen a man which fit Geralt’s description of Jaskier, and what the man had been wearing last Geralt saw him, but the traveler did not remember seeing a lute. Of course such a sighting made no sense, because Blaviken was quite far from where they were, especially by foot. It was impossible for Jaskier to have reached the city in less than two days, and it was equally as unlikely that Jaskier would have left his lute anywhere. 

He took better care of the instrument than he did of himself at the best of times. It was unimaginable to think of Jaskier without his Lute. The only way that would happen is if someone forcibly removed it from him - which, once again pointed towards danger. Only a very powerful monster, or a sorceress, would have been able to reach Blakiven that quickly and, considering the fact that Jaskier had crossed a fucking forest alone, Geralt could not shake his fear of the former. But the traveller had said the human fitting Jaskier's description had been alone. 

Nothing made sense. 

Geralt headed for Blakiven next, but, as expeted they were less than helpful. The town had not yet forgotten his moniker, not even after all these years, and Jaskier's trail went cold horribly soon. 

After that, Geralt wandered aimlessly for over two weeks, his mind as bleak as the weather. He could not be certain the bard was dead, nor was he certain that someone had captured him, but the very possibility terrified him to no end. It made no sense that he had skipped every town all the way to Blaviken, considering how much Jaskier loved his earthly comforts, such as a bed, warm food, and some company at night. 

But the very thought of Jaskier dead made his knees buckle and his palms sweat because he could not even start to fathom the idea that the last thing he had said to Jaskier had been that he wanted the man out of his life. 

As if Geralt could ever truly mean that. 

Perhaps at one point, when they had first met, it had been true, or rather Geralt had needed it to be true. After everything that had happened with Renfri, the last thing Geralt had wanted was to get attached again - to anyone. And, from the minute he had clocked Jaskier after the man had made that god awful joke about bread in his pants, Geralt had known Jaskier would be of the clingy sort. He had known the man wouldn't know how to leave a dangerous situation well enough alone. Jaskier wouldn’t be someone to simply walk away after Geralt gave him the stories he so clearly wanted, so Geralt had chosen not to engage, had chosen to keep Jaskier at arm’s length for as long as possible. He had been dismissive, sometimes even cruel, to try to make Jaskier catch a clue. 

And even then, with Geralt consciously acting as hostile as possible - often being borderline aggressive - Jaskier had not budged an inch. Jaskier had just brushed it off with one of his asinine comments that made Geralt want to brain himself and also laugh at the same time. Jaskier, with his sunny smiles and flamboyant demeanor, had draped himself over Geralt as if the man wasn't as anti-social and jaded as he truly was. 

And then trying to get rid of him without really trying had simply become their way to banter - that is until now. 

Now, Jaskier was gone - likely dead - and the last memory he would have of Geralt would be of the man spitting vitriol at the bard when he hadn’t even deserved it, not fully anyway. Jaskier had been the catalyst for a lot of his problems, yes, but he had never put a sword to Geralt’s throat to get him to make the wrong choice. At most, he could blame Jaskier for playing into destiny's hand, which wasn't really the man's fault after all. 

A part of him, the part of him that the trials had not been able to kill, wanted Geralt to just give up, to sink to the ground and never get back up. What was the point, after all? He killed and he suffered, and the cycle repeated over and over and over and for what? There was no end to this repetitive cycle, no sunlight after the thunderstorm, no lover to come home to. All he knew was the strenth of his silver sword and the familiar sound of bones crushing, skin parting, screams filling the air. 

Yennefer was gone - with good reason - and Jaskier was quite possibly dead  _ because of him.  _

“Are you Geralt of Rivia? The White Wolf?” A woman asked, bringing Geralt out of his reverie. 

The man turned his face to look up at the stranger, looking expectantly at him as if the answer being yes would be a good one. He looked around himself, as if to ensure she was talking to him. He wasn't sure where he was, nor why he had come into a tavern, but apparently he had made it to another town and now another human - another _bard_ \- was talking to him.

“Who asks?” He asked finally, unable to keep the wariness out of his voice. 

The woman rolled her eyes. “Well clearly I am asking,” she said, smiling at her own sarcasm. “The name’s priscilla, I’m a bard, like Jaskier.” 

Geralt perked up at that. “You know him? Personally, I mean.” 

The woman chuckled. “Of course I know him, the best wingman on the continent, that one. We also share a healthy distaste for Valdo, so really it's a match made in heaven," she sat down then, and waved to the bar keeper for a pint of ale. "I heard you two are not travelling together anymore, but he wouldn’t give me any details, only songs to sing.” She gave him a flirtatious smile, clearly fishing for the story Jaskier had not given her. 

Geralt’s heart almost stopped at her words. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You saw him? Where is he? When did you see him?” 

She thanked the burly man for her drink, taking a healthy swing before looking at Geralt. "Nah, I didn't see him in person. He sent me a letter, a couple of days ago, to give me a leg up in case that disgusting pig, Valdo, tries stealing Jaskier’s songs again.” 

“When  _ exactly  _ did you receive this letter?” Geralt pressed, reasoning that if she knew they weren’t travelling together then Jaskier must have sent it after he had walked away from the mountain, and must have found some sort of trading post where he could pay someone to deliver a letter. 

Why he had chosen to write to a fellow bard with songs was beyond Geralt, but he assumed it was just Jaskier being Jaskier, no sense in that head of his - not when it came to his personal safety anyway. 

“Two days ago I think? Not sure, past week has been a blur,” she said with a shrug as she leaned back. “Anyway, I have always wanted to meet ya! He is always talking about the dashing white wolf-” 

“Can we concentrate on the letter? Did he mention where he was going?” Geralt half growled, his annoyance growing exponentially by the second. "Are you entirely certain it is his letter? Or could it be a forgery, of someone that may want you to believe it's Jaskier." 

"Why would anyone kidnap Jaskier? Anyway, no, I would know that handwriting anywhere. It's definitely him." She clicked her tongue.“And nope, he didn’t tell me squat, just said he was taking a break for a bit, but that inspiration had struck him and he didn't want his songs going to waste.” 

“Why would he send you his songs and not simply wait to perform them himself?” Geralt asked, knowing how fiercely protective Jaskier was of his music. Something felt off about Jaskier’s behavior - assuming it had indeed been Jaskier that had sent the letter. While Jaskier's handwriting was indeed distinctive, for all he knew someone had coerced Jaskier. 

Though admittedly he had no reason to believe anyone would want to get their hands on Jaskier - well not anyone that wouldn't kill him on sight. 

“Oh I imagine he has been performing them, I have heard a few new songs he didn’t send to me in a couple of taverns already. He knows everyone and their mother sings his songs, but only Valdo is a cunt who doesn’t credit Jaskier for his work. So he sent me some of his new pieces so that people recognize them as his faster, before Valdo gets his greedy claws in them. He didn’t tell me why, and I’m not one to look a gift in the horse’s mouth. Him saying he is taking a break isn't exactly unusual, sometimes he says that, and then is back to performing within the week. I didn't think much about it.” 

“May I see the letter he sent you?” Geralt asked, trying to keep the desperation off his voice. 

Priscilla frowned. “Mail is private, witcher, and there ain’t nothing there meant for your eyes. Besides, didn’t you two have a fight? He ain’t travelling with you anymore, so why would you want the letter?” 

“What exactly did he tell you?” Geralt pressed, needing to know what Jaskier had said, needing to know the man was alright. “Look, whatever it is you think you know, you don’t. I need to find him, and I need to talk to him.” 

Priscilla’s eyes hardened at that. “All I know is I have a heartbroken friend whom you were an absolute shit to. I was willing to hear ya out, maybe write a song or two so Jaskier would hear, but I can see it’s your way or the highway. Guess what witcher? I don’t have to tell you shit. I don’t know where he is, he didn’t say where he was going or from where he was writing. And I am not giving you my letter. Now if you excuse me, I have some coin to go make.” 

With that the woman picked up her tankard of ale and walked towards the stage, greeting some of the patrons on her way there, meaning she either frequented this town - wherever it was that they were, Geralt had lost track - or she had arrived recently. 

That all led to another question; how did Jaskier know where to contact her? Who had delivered the letter? 

Something was clearly not right, and Geralt couldn’t pinpoint what without more information, but the bard seemed unwilling to cooperate with him, and he had no idea whether the letter was currently in her possession or in her room. 

Still, it likely wouldn’t hurt to check. 

Before Geralt could leave, however, the woman began to play and he remained in his seat, listening to the lyrics he could recognize as Jaskier’s. There were a few lines, here and there, that he had heard the man humming on their way up the mountain. It was his, there was no question, but it sounded all wrong when it wasn’t him singing it. 

_ … Her current is pulling you closer _

_ And charging the hot, humid night _

_ The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool _

_ Better stay out of sight _

_ I'm weak my love, and I am wanting _

_ If this is the path I must trudge _

_ I welcome my sentence _

_ Give to you my penance _

_ Garrotter, jury and judge _

_ But the story is this _

_ She'll destroy with her sweet kiss _

_ Her sweet kiss _

_ The story is this _

_ She'll destroy with her sweet kiss _

Geralt got up, suddenly feeling slightly sick. The majority of the lyrics were a little too on the nose; this was clearly about himself and Yennefer and yet… 

And yet some of them made no sense at all, there was a third person in the song, someone whose love was unrequited, but whom? There was no third person in his story with Yennefer, just him and his own mistakes that had driven her away. Inserting himself into the narrative was not unusual for Jaskier, but while he embellished things, this was going a bit too far. The man sounded in love - or rather in heartbreak - but that would mean he loved… 

No, Geralt was not going to go there. He had once almost deluded himself into thinking the bard had feelings for him - it was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with for the man sticking around for so long - but that had never been them. They had never had that kind of relationship, and he was almost entirely certain Jaskier didn’t want that. 

It wasn’t that Geralt didn’t think Jaskier found him attractive - Jaskier could sleep with anything with a pulse, the man was as horny as they came - but to think Jaskier could feel anything beyond that for Geralt was just ridiculous. Besides neither Geralt nor Jaskier did relationships, albeit for somewhat different reasons. 

So no, he did not wish to dwell on the song, or its intricacies because everything was painful enough right now. Geralt slinked back into the shadows, walking quietly to the barkeeper to get a room. 

Jaskier was alive, he knew that now. Somehow, the man had made it down the mountain and had made it quite far after that without dying. Perhaps he had met a traveler on the way, or perhaps something else had happened. 

Something was off, that was certain, but as much as Geralt wanted to get to the bottom of it, he wasn’t entirely sure he had the right to anymore. Jaskier was safe, for the first time in twenty years probably. While something  _ had  _ happened down the mountain, it clearly hadn’t harmed Jaskier otherwise he would not have been sending songs to his bardic friends. Right? 

What was worse, to go looking for the bard, whom he had hurt and driven away, to ensure his safety, or leave him be? If the man was taking a break it was because he wanted to be alone, wanted to make it all stop for a while. If Geralt intruded and there was no danger, then he would only be causing Jaskier more pain. 

Not to mention, he didn’t quite feel up to the task of seeing the bard again. He knew he had to apologize, or at least one day he would have to, but he was still hurting and he wasn’t sure what the hell to say that would be good enough to fix the hurt he had caused. He also didn’t know how to make it better, or how to not snap again when Jaskier needled and prodded at his patience. 

No, it was best to leave it alone, let them man lick his own wounds before searching for him. Maybe one day he would be ready to face the bard, but for now, he was content to stick to the path. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, this story will have alternating POVs, though the majority of the story will be told through Jaskier's eyes. 
> 
> I hope you are enjoying it!


	4. A promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There are places in the heart you don't even know exist until you love a child."   
> \- Anne Lamott

Terror was not a word Jaskier often associated with himself, but that was exactly what he was feeling as he waited outside his father’s study. The bastard likely knew it too, which was exactly why he was taking his sweet time letting Jaskier in. Build up the suspense in an effort to break Jaskier. As if the younger vampire would give that old cod the satisfaction; no, he was here for one reason only. He would do anything to keep Cirilla safe, and the quickest way to do that was with his father's help, but he was not above walking away and figuring out a different way. 

Honestly the nerve to keep Jaskier waiting, as if Jaskier hadn’t learned how to work under pressure. He had lived with a Witcher who had made an art of keeping Jaskier on the edge of his seat with worry every time he left for a hunt and didn't always let Jaskier come along. That was true terror; the fear of not knowing whether the person you loved would make it back to you and you not being able to do anything about it because of your own lies. This was nothing compared to that; Jaskier knew, despite his father's attempt at playing hard ball, his ambition would force the man’s hand without Jaskier having to do any serious persuading. 

Thank fuck, because Jaskier wasn’t sure he could take spending hours on end talking to his father to get him to agree to anything, really. Hell, he couldn't even remember how many centuries had passed since he spent an untold number of hours in his father's presence. 

“Another round of pacing and you will wear out the carpet, Julian," a dry, authoritative voice said from behind him. 

Speaking of the devil. 

“I happen to get bored easily and you were taking far too long. The carpet is the least of your worries,” Jaskier quipped back as he walked into his father’s study, crossing his arms in front of his chest like a shield. He could not seem desperate or he would play straight into his father's hand. “So? Have you made your inquiries?” 

The man hummed, watching Jaskier like a hawk. “The elders will recognize the child as yours, for as long as you want her to be recognized. They told me to warn you not to take this as a carte blanche to start a war over her. There are limits when it comes to how far they will go for her, that is unless she is turned and becomes one of us. They have begun searching for your Witcher - as soon as he is identified, they will accept your request of protecting him from afar. However, they will not get involved if it is humans hunting him. They can get him away, but they will not reveal themselves in order to protect a witcher.”

“Fair enough,” Jaskier said with a sigh knowing that that was as good a deal as he was going to get from the elders. They were practically allergic to getting involved in anything regarding humans and non-humans alike. “And my last two requests?” 

His father sat down, taking a small pause, as if to measure his words before stating “you will be allowed to travel the continent for half a year every decade-”

“ _ Decade? "  _ Jaskier interrupted, forcing himself not to gape. "Father, t hat’s preposterous. I cannot stay cooped up in this place for a decade. I-”

“You have done so before, you spoiled child,” his father growled, the man's patience wearing thing. 

“Yes, when I thought I had no choice! Half the year every five years,” Jaskier pleaded. “At least while Cirilla lives. She is human and her lifespan is short, so waiting a decade to see her every time is just... unthinkable” 

"She can always come visit," The man pointed out, sounding bored. 

"Unlike you, I am not going to tie her to this wretched place anymore than I have to. Besides, once the war passes, if Cintra survives, she will have to go back and rule. It will be easier for me to visit than for her to come. Half a year every five years... _please_." 

The man clicked his tongue but nodded after a minute of thinking it over; Jaskier was right. The girl would not live long enough for this to become an issue down the line. “ _ Only  _ while the human cub lives. You cannot disappear for so long if you are to keep your duties in check. After her death, you will be permitted to leave only every ten years.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes to keep himself from crying out. He could not bear to think of that, not right now, or he would lose his mind. He hated being cooped up, especially after twenty years of roaming the continent with a witcher. And now... he felt sick. “I am sure Jocelyn will be more than happy to help me with my duties every once in a while. Besides, we both know there are ways to get me here faster if needed. It will not be as big of an inconvenience as you make it out to be.” 

"Half a year every ten years after the human child enters her final rest," his father repeated, unwilling to bend. 

"Fine," Jaskier choked out, clenching his fists. 

His father made a dismissive wave with his hand, clearly growing tired with Jaskier’s pushiness. “As for your last request, I can only allow you to perform the ritual in secret, which means it will lack the approval of the elders. If they ever find out, you will be severely punished, likely put out of commission for a few centuries.” 

Jaskier winced at the sound of that. He knew the chances of them finding out were moderate to higgh, but not for the next century at the very least. “Did you ask for permission?” 

“Of course not, I do have a sense of self-preservation unlike you,” his father said with a roll of his eyes. "You know how much they exhalt our laws. It would be unheard of to allow a noble to gain power before his time, especially in the name of defending a human. You time as count would be over before it has even begun." 

“Then I can say I did it without thinking, as a dire need in order to keep my child safe. So long as they never know this conversation happened, their punishment is likely to be much more… bearable,” Jaskier reasoned, always good at thinking on his feet. 

His father only hummed in response, choosing to keep his comments to himself for once, which, honestly, made Jaskier even more nervous. He didn't have time to play this game right now, however, despite the possible future consequences. 

He had chosen to do this, now he had to see it through.

“When will the ceremony of transfer take place?” The younger man asked, getting down to the logistics of it. 

“In a week’s time. It would be good if the child is here, so that she can be admitted as your own in the same ceremony,” his father suggested - though they both knew that was anything but a suggestion. 

Jaskier groaned but nodded. “I will take my leave then, I have to speak to her grandmother to get her approval first in order to bring her with me.” 

His father chuckled darkly, amusement clear in his eyes. “Do you really think Calanthe is going to let you take her granddaughter? You, a man she thinks a bard? She will have a sword at your throat before you can say the child's name.” 

Jaskier bristled at that, mostly because his father's words hit a nerve. “You know nothing about my relationship with the Queen, so I kindly ask that you keep your comments to yourself, father,” he sneered before walking back to the door. “I will be back before the week is out in order to retake my duties.” 

“ _See that you are_ ,” his father said sweetly, though his eyes held a promise of pain if Jaskier failed to deliver. 

Jaskier held back a shudder as he closed the door behind him, feeling as if he had just run the entire continent in one day. Gods, he hated talking to his father. 

* * *

_ The ridiculousness of being back in Cintra after the shitshow that had been the last banquet was not lost on Jaskier. In fact, he was more aware than most how exactly this could end, having been subjugated to multiple attempts at people trying to end his life before. Still, it had been princess Pavetta herself that had requested his presence for the celebration of the birth of her daughter, so Jaskier was fairly certain no human under Calenthe's command would try to kill him tonight.  _

_ That is unless they had called him specifically for that purpose due to the fact that he was often tied at the hip with Geralt and the fool had gone and put his foot in his mouth by claiming the law of surprise. Honestly, and they said Jaskier was the impulslive, inprudent one. Never had Jaskier seen someone so radically change the course of their life in such a short span of time. It was like the Witcher had not learned anything in his seventy odd years of life.  _

_ So, now Jaskier was fairly certain Geralt had a target on his back planted by none other than the fucking Lioness of Cintra due to the man's foolish words, and Jnow askier - stupid stupid Jaskier - had dared return only a year after the alternaction.  _

_ Still, vampire longevity and whatnot, Jaskier liked his chances of survival. What he did not like, however, was trying to find a way to excuse his continued survival if push came to shove. He liked even less the thought of Geralt hearing about it. His kind had remained hidden from the world for as long as he could remember; while humans knew higher vampires existed, almost no one alive could boast of knowing one, not because they hadn't met one but because no human, or witcher for that matter, had a shot at spotting such a dangerous predator unless it wanted to be spotted. It was second nature to Jaskier, and those like him, to hide what he truly was.  _

_ When he had met Geralt, he had not wanted to scare the man off too quickly, knowing from prior experiences how quick Witchers could draw a sword at the sight of a monster. So he had said nothing, playing the part of the weak human as best he could. He had liked for once to be thought of as the unimportant one, as the weaker one who could cause no harm. It was novel for Jaskier to be seen as someone that needed protection and, well, he had liked it. He had liked feeling normal for once.  _

_ Of course, he had not hidden himself from the man, not where it counted. Jaskier had allowed himself to just be himself in front of the taciturn witcher, and the man had accepted him like that - admittedly with a bit of grumbling. And so Jaskier had begun trailing after the man, singing his heroic adventures, and truly enjoying life for what felt like the first time.  _

_ Jaskier had assumed at some point the Witcher would notice, at the very least, that Jaskier was not aging and ergo not human, but after a decade of Geralt still thinking Jaskier to be that weak human he had met at a tavern in Posada, the vampire had the sinking feeling the man was not going to figure it out - at least not for a few more decades. He wasn’t even sure if Geralt realized that ten years had come and gone and Jaskier did not look a day older than twenty-two at best.  _

_ But, really, too much time had passed to say anything now, which meant Jaskier could not let his accidental secret out via not dying at Calenthe’s court of all places, because, one, that would mean explaining to Geralt why he was back here in the first place and two, it would mean losing whatever trust the Witcher had in him. It was an unbearable thought.  _

_ So, truly, for everyone’s sake, he hoped the invitation he had received was a genuine one or he would be mightily pissed off.  _

_ “Ah, master bard, I was wondering if you would come,” Pavetta said from behind him, breaking Jaskier out of his reverie.  _

_ “Your highness,” the man said as he turned quickly, giving her a small bow as a greeting, surprised to have been caught of guard. Truly, what would his father think if he found out his son had been so lost in thought he had not heard a fucking human woman sneak up on him? Not that Jaskier much cared what his father thought.  _ _ “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I am truly honored you have called upon me to perform for your newborn child.”  _

_ The woman smiled softly at him, her eyes warm and inviting. Jaskier was quite certain he had not seen her this happy since she had been told she could marry her love. “I was actually hoping you would accompany me before the feast, I would like you to meet her,” she revealed, grabbing him softly by the elbow.  _

_ Jaskier was pretty sure he was gaping at the crown princess like a ghastly, unmannered idiot. “Your highness?”  _

_ The woman chuckled at his gobsmacked expression and patted his elbow as if to comfort him. “My daughter, for better or worse, is tied to your witcher and will forever be tied to him. Last I spoke to him, he assured me he would never come for her, but I think you and I both know fate doesn’t follow mortal whims. They will come together, someday," she finished, unable to hide her sadness and concern.  _

_ Jaskier hummed in agreement, though chose to say nothing. He did not yet quite grasp why he was here, or what the woman was trying to do, though by the gods he hoped she had not invited him to ask Jaskier to do something against Geralt because Jaskier did not fancy sitting in prison for a while after he irrevocably denied her request.  _

_ “I know I can’t force the Witcher to establish a rapport with my daughter, but I was hoping I could convince you to… well I am not sure, really. I guess I would like the two of you to connect, at the very least," she said with a shrug. "I would like for you to come visit - as often as you can - so that you can be a part of my daughter's life. _

_ Jaskier knew it wasn’t a mere request, though he was too shocked to control his next words; “Why me, if I may ask?”  _

_ The woman gave him a knowing look which Jaskier did not like one bit. “All your songs are about him. You travel with him, have travelled with himf for the past ten years. Pardon the assumption, but I don’t think it’s a great leap of logic to believe you will continue to travel with him until your very bones tire out. So, when they find each other, you will be there - and , if she gets to know you now, then she won’t ever have to feel lonely when she begins to travel with him.”  _

_ Jaskier froze; she didn’t need to say it out loud, did not need to give the words shape, to make her meaning known. She knew. She knew Jaskier’s heart beat for the damn witcher in the same inescapable way that the sun rose every morning and descended out of sight every evening. He had not been able to hide from her perceptive gaze.  _

_ “Well, I can’t claim to have much experience with children, but it would be an honor to get to know your daughter, your highness," Jaskier said finally. "I travel with Geralt most of the year, except for the winters. I suppose, if you will allow it, I can come here then." _

_ The smile the young woman gave him was more than worth the internal crisis Jaskier was experiencing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had personally dealt with a child, certainly had never been asked to establish any kind of relationship with an infant as a way to ensure a smooth transition from parent to Witcher - under entirely unknown circumstances. Essentially, Pavetta was asking him to become family to the child, so that, when the day came that she had to leave her mother's side, she would still have family with her - loving her - every step of the way.  _

_ Pavetta intertwined her arm with his more fully, patting his forearm as if she could sense his internal struggle. She walked them to the royal quarters, where a baby’s laughter could be heard from the last room in a long, opulent hallway. She did not look at Jaskier as she walked them to what Jaskier presumed was the young girl’s nursery, letting him collect himself in silence. He was grateful for that.  _

_ He opened the door for her - being shocked was no excuse to be rude to a lady - and walked quietly behind her, making sure to close the door as to not be disturbed and not to be seen. Pavetta plucked her newborn babe from the arms of a wet nurse, thanking her quietly as a way of giving her leave. She kissed the baby’s forehead, before bringing her closer to show her to Jaskier.  _

_ The first thing that struck him were here ice-blue eyes that seemed to glimmer in the soft light of the room. She had pale blond hair, just like her mother, and her rosy dimpled cheeks gave her an endearing look that made it almost impossible to look away. Pavetta chuckled at his look of awe, all but shoving the small babe into the bard’s fumbling hands.  _

_ To his credit, he did not shake as he cradled the baby, being extra careful not to crush her or smother her in any way. She grabbed onto his index finger with the entirety of her right hand, and Jaskier felt his heart melt at the sight. The child kept looking at him with those intelligent eyes of hers, finally bestowing him with a smile for whatever reason.  _

_ “Her Name is Cirilla. Well, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon if you want to be technical about it,” Pavetta leaned in closer, giving Jaskier a conspiratorial look. “I think Ciri will suit her best, though.”  _

_ Jaskier could not find his voice to answer the sweet mother's entreat. All he could do was stare into those impossibly blue eyes, filled with warmth and joy. He knew, as surely as he knew that he loved Geralt, that he now loved - and would forever love - the newborn princess as if she was his own child. He could feel the sismic shift inside himself, could feel his very being accept Cirilla as a part of him.  _

_That was, in may ways, the curse of his race. They rarely loved, but when they did, they loved fiercely, with everything they had in them, and they loved forever._

_ “Sweet, Sweet Ciri,” Jaskier said finally, caressing the baby’s plump cheek with the hand she was still holding. He leaned down and bestowed a kiss and a blessing upon her, feeling his powerful energy latch onto her as the wish to protect solidified into a promise. He looked up into Pavetta's eyes and smiled, for once feeling at home despite Geralt not being there next to him. "I promise you, wondrous Pavetta, that I will look over , protect, and love your daughter for the rest of her days."  _

* * *

Stealth hadn’t always been Jaskier’s strong suit. As a child, almost half a millennia ago, he had been clumsier than any vampire his age. Not that he knew many, but his sister was definitely better than him at anything that required hand to eye coordination and she was about four decades younger than him.  He wasn’t sure if it was the teasing or his own sense of insecurity at being so abysmally bad at something which seemed to come naturally to every other vampire but he had spent almost a century honing his abilities, forcing himself to learn how to be silent as a grave when needed. His sister was still better than him, if he was honest, but he had become excellent at avoiding detection. 

And, boy, was he grateful for that right now, as he climbed his way into Calenthe’s study, avoiding guards and nobles alike. He knew Calanthe would not take his intrusion particularly well, but he needed to ensure no one except her knew Jaskier was here. 

He would have to take Ciri out of the castle undetected; it was vital that no one recognized him and, considering he had stayed in this castle every single winter for a decade now, the only way to do that was not to see anyone. For all they knew, Jaskier the bard was currently on a break somwhere in the continent, with no timeline as to when he would return to performing for the court again, and he intended to keep the rumour that way. 

He slipped into the woman’s study without bothering to knock once he ascertained that there was only her familiar heartbeat in the room, taking off his cloak before walking into the light.  He grimaced at the sharp intake of breath coming from his left, followed by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. 

“Your Majesty,” Jaskier said as he turned to face her with a bow. “Apologies for walking in unannounced in such a manner, but I needed to ensure no one saw me on my way up.” 

“What is the meaning of this, bard?” Calenthe spit out, her heart still beating faster than normal. Even she was not immune to surprise. "It's not winter time yet, and, frankly, I assumed you would not be coming here this winter." 

“I came to speak to you about an urgent matter, one which requires complete discretion,” Jaskier said, keeping his posture open. “It has to do with your granddaughter's safety.” 

That made the Queen pause. She sheathed her sword once again, but looked like she was ready to behead Jaskier at the first wrong turn. While she had never been able to really like the man, not after the whole law of surprise debacle, she had warmed up a smidge to him at her late daughter's request. More importantly, she did not doubt the love he held for both her child and her granddaughter, which made this visit all the more troublesome. “You must either be truly desperate or truly dumb to walk into my study like that. Sit down, bard,” she chided as she motioned for him to sit before she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m all ears.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case, the italics will be used in one of two ways in this fic: 
> 
> 1) As flashbacks  
> 2) When in dialogue amongst vampires, it will mean they are speaking their native tongue, which we hear a bit of in the witcher 3.


	5. A Show of Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved.”  
> ― George MacDonald

_ It was a testament to Pavetta’s sweet nature that after only a year and a half, Jaskier no longer questioned his place in Calanthe’s home. This was only the second winter that he came to stay with the Princess and her family, and already they had established age old routines which made Calanthe look a little ill every time she came across one of their love-filled practices.  _

_ When he was around, Jaskier and Pavetta had breakfast together in her quarters, where Cirilla was free to make noise, move around, and eat from whatever plate she wished. Jaskier would run around the room to catch Cirilla to keep her still long enough for Pavetta to dress her, before taking her down to the grounds for their morning walk while Pavetta attended to her morning duties. They would have their lunch with Calanthe in the main hall, gossiping the whole while.  _

_ Jaskier was almost certain Calanthe only refrained from smacking them over the head for their childishness because doing so would cause even more of an unnecessary scene. Thus, the woman had to content herself with growling at the two once their giggling got a bit too loud and one pair of eyes too many landed on the two.  _

_ It was not unusual to see Jaskier composing in the Queen’s gardens in the afternoons, or to see him playing with the young princess around the warmer parts of the castle, given that the child hated wearing too many layers of clothing despite the fact that they were meant to keep her warm.  _

_ And, of course, like clockwork, Jaskier would entertain any and all of Calanthe’s guests each night during dinnertime, only retiring occasionally to put Cirilla to bed when Pavetta was required to be present for dinner. Calanthe had never personally asked him to play, but it seemed to be their silent agreement that, so long as he was around, he would try to make himself useful to the Queen in some way.  _

_ It was a terribly domestic existence; one Jaskier had never experienced before. His many centuries at his own castle had not been so happy, nor so full of love. They had taught him duty and swordsmanship. Laughter, or any outburst of emotion really, was anathema in the Pankratz household, which had made Jaskier’s childhood and early adulthood extremely difficult. Perhaps it was because of this that he was so doting on Cirilla, or perhaps it was because of her connection to the witcher Calanthe had made him swear he would never mention while near Cirilla. Whatever the case, the only times Jaskier felt as alive as he did when visiting Pavetta and her darling child was when he was travelling with Geralt - though for entirely different reasons.  _

_ He often wondered what Geralt would make of the little princess. Jaskier assumed the man would be terrified to come anywhere near her, likely letting his awful self-deprecation get the best of him. He would think himself unworthy of her pure love; would think just letting her near him would somehow doom her for life. Jaskier wished there was a way he could convince Geralt otherwise, so he could get the stubborn oaf to come with him for the winter to rest at the palace where every comfort was available and where there were no monsters for Geralt to hunt, at least for a little while.  _

_ Not only would it be good for Geralt, but Jaskier was certain it would be good for the princess. While Pavetta was extremely involved in her daughter’s life, the same could not be said about Cirilla's father. Jaskier could count the number of times he had seen Duny interact with Cirilla in both hands. He was rarely around when Jaskier visited, and never seemed interested in partaking in the many games Jaskier and Pavetta played with the young princess.  _

_ He often wondered what the hell had happened to the man Pavetta had fallen in love with and had fought so fiercely to marry, because Duny just was not it. The man was as emotionally present and available as a rock, which made Jaskier want to claw his heart out, if only to check whether or not the man had one.  _

_ “Dada, shiny!” Cirilla squealed, breaking Jaskier’s reverie. She looked up at him and repeated, clearly not happy with his lack of an answer. “Dada, dada, shiny.”  _

_ She grabbed onto his doublet, struggling to get herself to her feet. Jaskier’s hands shot out immediately to stabilize her, though he could not stop himself from gaping at the young princess. He turned to look at Pavetta, not sure whether to apologize at her daughter’s confusion or pretend that neither had heard what had come out of Cirilla’s mouth  twice.  _

_ The woman shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s alright,” she choked out after a second. “Just… let her have that. She needs… well, she loves you, you know that. She only likes your songs, but cries when other bards play them when you’re gone,” she said with a watery smile and a shrug. “Duny is… not the most present of men, so I don’t mind if… well-” _

_ Jaskier reached out and squeezed her hand, putting her out of her misery. He would never make her voice her woes; they were not there yet. With his free hand he placed Cirilla on his lap, and gave her his hand so she could take off his shiny rings, which was what she had wanted to begin with.  _

_ The two adults remained quiet as she played with Jaskier’s rings, smiling softly at the way she slobbered all over them. The quiet did not last long, however, as Calanthe made her presence known with a small cough. Jaskier had no idea how long the woman had been standing there, having been too absorbed and too in shock to notice much of anything. He wondered, briefly, if the Queen would try to have him executed now that Cirilla had decided to start call him ‘dada’, but then remembered that she hated Duny so it was unlikely she would do much about it.  _

_Thank Fuck_

_ “I am going to take Ciri up for her nap,” he announced, hoisting the girl up on his hip as he quickly made his way out. He knew Calanthe well enough to know when she wanted to speak to her daughter alone, and he had no desire to test the Queen’s patience.  _

_ The two women watched him leave, one with a small smile and the other with a sigh. Calanthe came to sit on the spot Jaskier had just disoccupied, giving Pavetta a knowing look. Pavetta shifted on her seat, bracing herself for her mother's words.  _

_ “I must say, it’s a pity that you did not prefer the little songbird to warm your bed. At least his idiocy and weak constitution is offset by his doting of your child," she half growled.  _

_ Pavetta glared at her mother for a second before sighing, knowing deep down that there was no argument to be had. She did not love Jaskier that way, and he in turn only had eyes for his witcher, but there was no denying that he was a good father figure for her daughter.  _

_ She just hoped that his love was contagious enough that the Witcher would love her daughter in much the same way too.  _

* * *

“Your Majesty, what do you know of Dragons’ premonition powers?” Jaskier said as he sat down - waiting, of course, until she sat first. 

She raised a brow, looking uneasy. “I know that I want you to get to the point,” she half growled out. "You know very well I care little for games, and you are trying my patience." 

Jaskier suppressed a smile; always ready for a kill, this one. In some ways, she reminded him of his sister. “Dragons, Golden Dragons in particular, were known for their prescience. Of course, it was a highly guarded art, and most humans never did figure out how it worked. However, humans are thankfully not the only ones that keep records. Dragons themselves kept a record of their prophecies. Their understanding is that the future was ever changing, but they could see glimpses of future events, particularly cataclysmic events. It allowed them to prevent personal tragedy many times, and it served to alert them to the start of wars, the birth of children and more.” 

Calanthe rolled her eyes. “Get to the point, bard.” 

Jaskier sighed at her impatience. “Geralt and I came across a Golden Dragon fairly recently in one of his contracts. Unbeknownst to the Witcher, this particular dragon was an old friend of mine. Before parting ways, said dragon looked into my future at my request. He foresaw war in the near future, and he could see those I care about sitting in the very eye of the storm. He essentially saw them standing at death’s doors.” 

Calanthe shifted, looking more uneasy by the minute. “What does that have to do with my granddaughter? Did he see her specifically?” 

“There are only two people I truly care about that could be caught in a war, and their fates are tied,” Jaskier said drily, as if it was the most obvious thing. “Cirilla is in danger, your Majesty, I am certain of it. It has been foretold by the Dragons, and my friend, in all his centuries, has never been wrong before, not when prophecizing. Nilfgaard grows stronger, and it seems they will wage war against your people. And while I cannot say who will win, I can assure you that if we don’t act now, Cirilla will fall into their hands, or worse, fall  _ at _ their hand.” 

“Nilfgaard will  _ never  _ win” The Queen snarled as she leaned forward, her eyes filled with lethal anger. She was likely seconds away from grabbing her sword and dispatching of Jaskier due to his daring. 

“Are you willing to bet your granddaughter’s life on that?” Jaskier shot back, talking back to the Queen for the first time in their acquaintance. While he had always tried to be more meek in her presence, to keep her appeased, he could not afford to care about her sensibilities at the moment. “Win or lose, the vision does not lie. Cirilla’s very life is in danger and if we do nothing, she will die and her blood will be on your hands.” Jaskier leaned forward, determination clear in his eyes. “I will not allow her to die - not if I have any say on it.” 

That brought the queen up short. She let out a short, contemptuous laugh as she regarded the man sitting in front of her. “And how exactly do you wish to protect her? You are ill equipped for battle, _bard._ ” 

“Let me take her with me. Say that you have sent her somewhere in Cintra for her continued education if needed. I can protect her in my own lands,” he insisted. 

“Is this the Witcher’s way to get his hands on my granddaughter?” The queen said, suddenly suspicious. 

It was Jaskier's turn to roll his eyes. “The Witcher, if you remember, wants nothing to do with Cirilla. Besides, he and I are no longer on speaking terms, so no, I am not here on his behest. I am here because I care for your granddaughter, and I cared a great deal for your daughter and, frankly, I am half sure she will come back to haunt me if I sit back and do nothing. Let me protect her,” Jaskier pleaded, not caring that the Queen was glaring daggers at him.

"You-"

“A ceremony will be held soon to mark my ascension as Count of Lettenhove. No one will question if I say I am bringing a daughter with me from my travels. A plausible story can be created. Barely anyone that has met me as a bard knows me as a Viscount as well; similarly, my people only know I went off to travel the continent, not the particularities of my travel. Therefore, it will not be difficult for them to accept that I met someone and fell in love on the road. I can claim her as my own - a daughter that will enjoy a title and the protection that comes with it in a territory that has no ties at all with Cintra," Jaskier said, cutting her off. 

If Calanthe was surprised to hear about his title, she did not show it. Instead, she stood up and began pacing around the study. “She is all I have left of my daughter and you want to take her from me. Why mention your rank now?" 

“You will have nothing left of Pavetta if they manage to take Cirilla or, worse, they kill her. I left my titles behind me because I did not want that life for myself, but I will gladly pick up my burden if it means providing Cirilla the safety she needs. The war won’t last forever, Calanthe - I give you my word to return her to you once it is safe to do so.” 

She growled, and turned back to him. “If you believe I am not strong enough to protect her, why the hell should I believe you can? You, a weak bard who needed a fucking Witcher to protect him at one of my banquets. If she goes with you, she will have less protection than here. You are speaking nonsense.”

Jaskier took a deep breath, knowing he had to face the music whether he wanted to or not; Calanthe would not be reassured otherwise. He needed to prove to her that he was the stronger one in terms of ability to protect. 

“Your Majesty, trust me when I say nowhere will your granddaughter be safer than with me. Don’t let looks deceive you, for they often hide the truth,” Jaskier said, for once sounding older than he looked as he stood up, his electric blue eyes turning blood red in the blink of an eye. “I am not as weak as you may think me to be, nor are you as equipped to protect Cirilla as you may wish to be.” 

Calanthe staggered backwards, her eyes widening as a peek of the real Jaskier shone through. “You… _what the hell are you_?” 

“I am someone who could easily bring down this castle and everyone in it if I so wished,” Jaskier said truthfully as he looked away, feeling his nails elongate slightly. “I am also someone who happens to  _ love  _ your family, and is willing to do  _ anything  _ to see your granddaughter live through the coming war.” 

“How can I even know you’re the real Jaskier?” She shot back, unleashing her sword once again only to lunge it straight at Jaskier, stopping millimeters away from his throat. 

“The first time I came to visit, after Cirilla was born, you brought me into this study and told me that it was only because Pavetta had insisted that you were letting me anywhere near the little princess. You made me swear I would never tell Geralt of my visits. You like your tea with honey, not sugar, and you refused to let anyone else teach Ciri how to fight, because you wanted to do it yourself,” Jaskier said, not reacting at all to the sword at his throat. “I am not an impostor, your Majesty. I am still me, I may just not have been entirely forthcoming about my nature.” 

“What are you?” She repeated again, her eyes hard. She pressed the sword closer, the tip nicking Jaskier’s skin, though no blood came out. 

“I am what your kind has deemed a higher vampire,” Jaskier said in a whisper, certain that the very walls around them would come down at his revelation. “So that sword of yours cannot hope to harm me, dear lady. I am not your enemy, I never have been," he insisted, his eyes pleading. "If I wanted you or yours dead you would already be buried six feet under.” 

He did not reach out, letting her process the information on her own. “The Dragons are never wrong about their visions, Calanthe. Cirilla will be in danger unless I do something. He said we had very little time. You know Pavetta would have sent her with me if it meant keeping her daughter safe; you  _ know  _ what the right choice is. I am the stronger one out of the two of us. Not even an army would be strong enough to take Cirilla from me.” 

Calenthe stepped away as if she had been burnt. She dropped her sword on her table and walked to the window, giving her back to Jaskier. Distantly he wondered if she realized the amount of trust she was showing by giving a  _ vampire _ her back, but he did not mention it. He knew the queen enough to know that it was best to let her work through her building emotions on her own and at her own pace. 

“And what happens when your Witcher finds her? How will you get her back to me? Vampire or not, he has a claim over her,” she said after a few moments, turning back to face Jaskier. 

“Geralt does not wish to be involved in Cirilla’s life in any way. He doesn’t wish her to have to endure the life of a Witcher, particularly because she is human and therefore not as sturdy as a Witcher. He also said that if life could give him one blessing it would be to take me off his hands,” Jaskier said, clenching his hands as his very bones hurt at the memory. “I am also almost entirely certain he has no idea I am a viscount. He rarely pays attention to anything I say. So I think it is safe to assume he won’t even know Cirilla is with me. I  _ will  _ return her to you as soon as the fight is over and she is safe.” 

After what felt like an hour the Queen finally nodded, though she still looked ready to stab Jaskier any second. “What is your plan to get her out of here unnoticed?” 

“I can take her with me tonight, or tomorrow if you prefer to have one more day with her. I need to be back in Lettenhove before the week is out, for the ceremony. I contacted one of your universities, and they will be sending a representative to take the princess with them in three days time. I wish to be gone before they arrive. I have an… acquaintance, experienced in the art of killing, who can pass as the princess to anyone that doesn’t know her.” 

“How would she pass as Cirilla?” The Queen asked, confused. "Ciri is twelve years old. Unless we are talking about a child assassin-"

“It’s a doppler,” Jaskier admitted with an apologetic smile. “They're creatures able to identically replicate a person's looks, their voice, and any recent memories. Dopplers are easy to identify to anyone with enhanced senses, as dopplers cannot copy a smell, but to a human it is almost impossible to determine a difference, especially if they have not met the real person.” 

“Why would a doppler help you?” The Queen asked, more curious than anything. 

“I saved its life many years ago. It owes me a favor, and a few years of a comfortable life, pretending to be a princess, is no hardship. If Nilfgaard starts searching for Cirilla, the doppler will simply leave the academy and change form. They will assume Cirilla escaped to avoid Nilfgaard and the trail will be lost. We can also have the doppler return to the castle after a few years, let it live in the academy for a while, and then return her to Cintra to make Nilfgaard believe she is here.” 

“You really have thought this through, haven’t you?” Calanthe said, her eyes narrowing, once again, with suspision. 

Truly, he couldn't win with this woman. “I care deeply about your granddaughter,” Jaskier said seriously. “I can protect her even if Nilfgaard were to come to my doorstep, but I would prefer to avoid the conflict altogether to keep my nature concealed.” 

Calanthe took a deep breath and nodded, looking at her shaking hands with disdain. “You can take her tonight, just give me a few hours to say goodbye.” 

Jaskier nodded, not daring to offer a comforting touch as he knew Calenthe tended to lash out whenever she felt emotionally compromised. “I will come get her a little later. Enjoy the day with her.”

\----------------------------------

Jaskier suddenly appeared in the room, almost as if materializing from the shadows. He looked towards the bed, where both Calanthe and Ciri sat. Calanthe was the first to notice him, and her features went from shock to anger to tired resignation. 

Jaskier for his part was indignant. “Did you really think your guards were going to stop me from getting Cirilla to safety?” Jaskier half growled as he finally stepped out of the shadows, his cheerful disposition gone with the chilled night air. “Do you honestly think I would be here if I wasn’t sure of the danger Cirilla’s life is in? Or are you so selfish that you would rather see her die than leave your side?” Jaskier spit out, hands on his hips. 

Calanthe did not look the least bit remorseful. If anything, the anger from this morning was back. “You can’t be sure it-”

“Dammit Calanthe, this is her life we are talking about!” Jaskier growled, his eyes flashing red and his canines growing ever so slightly longer. It was rare for his control to slip so quickly, but the thought of Cirilla coming to harm because of her grandmother's stubbornness was driving him up a wall. 

The young girl looked between the two adults, clearly confused. “What’s happening? Jaskier, why are you here? Are we under attack?” 

“Pack your things, Cirilla,” Jaskier instructed her, his eyes blue once again when he looked at her. “I will explain everything later, but time is of essence. We need to go, now.” 

Before Calanthe could say anything else, Jaskier shoved what looked like a necklace, made of silver with a ruby stone as a pendant, into her hands. “You will be able to communicate with your granddaughter every day through this. If you break it, the connection will be lost but it will also become impossible to track Ciri through it, so if you’re ever in danger, break it,” Jaskier explained. “Now, you are going to move your troops away from this area of the castle so I can take Cirilla out of here quickly, and we are not having this discussion twice, dammit, because you  _ know  _ I am right and I don’t have time to find a necromancer to bring your daughter back just to yell at you. So,  _ please,  _ be sensible for once.” 

"Jaskier-" Ciri started 

"Calanthe-" Jaskier cut it, looking more frustrated by the second. 

The Queen. meanwhile, looked like she was being repeatedly stabbed as she half whispered "do what he says and pack your things, Ciri." 

“The doppler is in your room, waiting to be escorted back here. It will stay for two days until the delegation for the university comes to take it. Please don’t do anything foolish in those two days, remember  _ why  _ we are  doing this in the first place. This is for your granddaughter's continued safety, not out of some sick pleasure to take her away from her rightful home.” Jaskier turned to Cirilla. “Pack just your essentials, my dear. Leave the rest.” 

The girl did as she was told, quickly putting clothes and other trinkets into a big bag she kept under he bed. Calanthe and Jaskier remained silent, looking at each other in the eye - speaking without the need for words. It was a battle of wills, and yet it was also a struggle for acceptance. It was too many emotions all at once, which Calanthe had never been good at. It was trusting Jaskier in ways she had never had to before. 

“I have all my essentials,” the girl said some ten minutes later as she closed her bag. Jaskier picked it up for her, quickly slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. “Where are we going?” she asked, looking, once again, between Jaskier and her grandmother. 

“The guards, your Majesty,” Jaskier said again, though this time he kept his tone calm, knowing that Calanthe was finally ready to give in. 

The Queen went down on her knees and kissed Cirilla’s forehead and her cheeks, hugging the child close to her. She did not let a single tear fall, only allowing herself to hold her granddaughter close. “Promise me to be strong - never let anyone look down upon you. And remember who you are; you are the granddaughter of a Queen. You are the lion cub of Cintra." 

“Wait, no, what is happening?” Cirilla asked again, hating the desperation in her grandmother’s voice. She clung to her grandmother as if afraid the woman wasn’t coming with her. 

“Go with Jaskier, and _never_ leave his side. Trust no one but him, do you understand? I will see you soon, Cirilla. I promise,” the Queen said with a last kiss to her forehead before she firmly pushed the child into Jaskier’s grasp. “You better keep all your promises  _ bard  _ or no matter how indestructible you are, I will find a way to burn you at the stake,” she hissed in warning. 

“I would expect nothing less from the Lionness of Cintra,” Jaskier said as he picked Cirilla up and placed her on his hip the way he used to when she was but two years old. “I know you don’t like to be carried, darling, but we don’t have much time. Put this on,” he instructed the young girl as he passed her a black travelling cloak.

The girl, who still looked both confused and a bit overwhelmed, did as told. She glanced back at her grandmother as the woman stepped out of the room, before looking back at the man holding her. “Uncle Jaskier, I want to know what is going on," she said finally, her voice commanding. 

“Your grandmother and I have agreed that it would be best if you were to come live with me for a little while,” the man admitted, fixing his own hood up. “There is a war brewing with Nilfgaard, and you are in danger here. I can keep you safe in a place where they can’t find you. Once the war has passed, you can return home to your grandmother. I promise." 

“But why isn’t she coming with us?” If I am in danger then so is she,” Cirilla reasoned, fear ringing in her voice. 

“Your grandmother is the Queen, my darling. She cannot leave her people. She is also a warrior, she will never shy away from a battlefield. We cannot protect her, because to do so we would have to strip her away from her very essence. She would never agree to be protected, you know that," Jaskier said gently. 

Cirilla looked away, tears filling her eyes. “Then I should stay too. I am supposed to be like her - a warrior.” 

“No, you’re supposed to be a child. You can be a warrior one day, but you’ll never get there if you die now,” Jaskier touched her chin, asking her to look his way. “I know you don’t like this, Ciri, but your mother made me promise to always look after you. I can’t go back on my word.” 

The young girl didn’t answer, instead locking her arms around his neck to hide her face in the crook of his neck. She did not want him to see her cry. He rubbed her back comfortingly as he walked out of the room, pulling the shadows around him to cloak them in the darkness. He walked quickly and silently through the halls, jumping on beams, and gliding through precarious, hidden paths to get them out unnoticed. Jaskier did not give Cirilla the time to look back, knowing it would only cause her more pain. 

Once they passed the gates of the castle and they were deep enough in the forest surrounding the area, Jaskier allowed Cirilla to climb down. 

“We will have to camp tonight, and we have a long journey to walk tomorrow to get out of Cintra. I have made arrangements to have someone pick us up once we are out of the city,” Jaskier explained to her as he offered her his hand. “Come on, we are just gonna walk for a half hour or so, then I will light us a fire, and you can rest.”    
  
“Aren’t there wild animals in the forest?” She asked, looking around with a wary expression. "I can't really see much of anything." 

“Do you trust me my dear?” Jaskier asked softly, looking down at the girl. 

“I do,” she said with a nod. “Mother always trusted you.” 

“Then trust me to keep you safe,” he said, squeezing her hand softly. “Now come on, this scary but somehow quaint forest is calling us deeper in. I can carry you for the rest of the way; I, thankfully, can see quite well in the darkness.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the flashbacks helped understand the relationship between Calanthe and Jaskier. I do believe she loves her family, and Jaskier has been (in this fic) a permanent fixture in her family's life since Cirilla was born. So, while difficult, she has the capacity to entrust her to him, in a way she wouldn't have done with Geralt. 
> 
> Also fuck Duny (you will know what I mean if you have played the Witcher games).


	6. Before the clock strikes midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “…everyone needs a somewhere, a place he can go. There comes a time, you see, inevitably there comes a time you have to have a somewhere you can go!”  
> ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Jaskier could readily say he had never been happier to see the familiar fortress which his parents had chosen to build long before he was born. It had always been a place that had felt like a prison, with its too tall walls, and it's powerfully oppressive shields. But, right now, with the very human, very breakable girl bundled next to him, he welcomed the mighty protection the castle offered. He held Cirilla close to him, the child asleep in his arms as they rode past the gates.

It had been a grueling journey for the child, as they had had to cover a rather long distance in a small amount of time, and Jaskier had not been able to risk transforming into a bat to take her with him more quickly. For starters, while he did want to tell her the truth, his more monstrous form was terrifying to look at, and the last thing he needed right now was for Cirilla to be afraid of him. Moreover, he could not be sure her body would handle the temperature, due to the altitude, not the speed at which Jaskier had to go. So, all in all, he had quickly discarded the idea, which meant they had only a few days to reach the keep. 

They had had to use more human ways; walking, horse riding and the like. To her credit, she had not complained at all, despite the short rests and the tasteless food. In fact, he had been rather impressed with the sheer strength of her will to keep going. He knew they were travelling in less than ideal conditions, at a pace that even Geralt would have been more than happy with, but which was rather strenuous for such a young human, particularly one born into royalty. But even her mental fortitude could not overcome everything, and it was clear the fatigue was starting to get to her, and so Jaskier was all too happy to be back. 

To avoid waking her, as it was rather late and she needed her rest, Jaskier picked her up bridal style, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. He greeted the two servants that had come to see to the horses, but did not linger. The less people saw of her at the moment, the better. He carried her to his wing of the fortress, smiling when his sister pulled out of the shadows a few paces behind him once he had reached the family wing. 

"I see you were successful in your endeavors. Did the Queen offer much resistance?" His sister asked as she stepped in front of him, motioning with her head for him to follow her. 

Jaskier frowned, but acquiesced, unsure as to why they were going further past his room. "She was not happy, not, but she did allow Cirilla to come, so I count it as a win." 

His sister hummed in agreement before opening a door two rooms down from Jaskier's own. "This will be her room," his sister explained as she opened the door wider, to let both Jaskier and Cirilla in. "I figured you would want to keep her close to you." . 

Jaskier stopped short at the door, surprised to find the room so perfectly decorated for a child. There were toys on newly built shelfs, as well as a newly built desk and a bookshelf. The curtains had been changed, from the usual black and red to whites, golds, and purples, more fitting of the human world. The bed also looked new, and the bedding was a pale purple with golden highlights. "What-"

"I took the liberty to make her a room. I am not sure what her tastes are but there's a bit of everything. I also commissioned armor, daggers, and a sword for her so we can train her while she's here." His sister said, suddenly sounding slightly unsure of herself. "I haven't been near a child in a very long time, so I am not entirely certain the toys and the books will be age appropriate, but we can change them if needed. I just... didn't want her to feel like we used to when we were growing up." 

Jaskier turned to look at her, his eyes misty. "You truly are a wonder, Jocie. Thank you very much, truly. I am sure Cirilla will love it, particularly the weaponry you have commissioned." 

His sister smiled radiantly at him. "It's the least I could do. Have you decided how you are going to go about hiding her here?"

"Yes, I actually need you to send your birds out," Jaskier requested as he laid down the sleeping child on the bed. "I need it to become a known fact that the son of the now ailing Count has come home with a daughter whom he has officially claimed given that the child's mother is dead. The child came from a happy relationship where the mother did not survive childbirth and the Count's son raised her while away, in order to concentrate on raising her before resuming his duties. The Count's son has come back as his father is ill and wishes to pass on the County's title. He is ready and willing to serve as is his daughter who will one day inherit the land from him if there are no male heirs." 

"That's quite the story you want me to fabricate into reality," his sister noted, coming to stand next to him, her eyes on the sleeping human child. "I will begin weaving the tale today, but it will take some time, particularly if you want this to hold for an indeterminate amount of time. Even my powers can't make this air-tight in a day.” She moved closer to the bed, leaning on one of the posters. “Are you sure this is wise? You said it yourself, she won’t stay here forever. What story will you weave when she’s gone? It's hard to undo a story once I set it in place.   


Jaskier shrugged, giving her an apologetic look. “I haven't give it too much thought, if I am being honest. I will cross that bridge when we get there. We could fake her death, I suppose, say I no longer have an heir, or perhaps, when enough years have passed, we can pretend you are her. I don’t know, Jocie. I am not too worried though, we have made up crazier stories over the years.” 

She hummed, giving him a judgmental look but not feeling up to fighting him over what, really, was a smaller detail at the moment. She understood that between agreeing to become count, rescuing the child, and losing the man her brother had fallen in love with, he barely had a clear enough head to think right now. Not to mention, she knew Jaskier as well as she knew herself; the man was very much an overthinker, which meant he was likely cycling between whatever it was that had happened with the Witcher had done to him - a story she had yet to hear in full - and the fact that he was about to sign his life away to the very role he had avoided for centuries. 

‘Father mentioned something about needing to see you tonight. He said to come see him as soon as you arrived,” she said, as if just remembering. 

Jaskier groaned, scrubbing his face with a tired hand. “Do you mind staying here with Cirilla? I don’t want her to be alone if she wakes up. She had a small dinner, so she may be hungry. I know you're not familiar to her, but we do look enough alike that if you tell her you are my sister, she will feel calm enough to stay here while I am gone.” 

His sister nodded, squeezing Jaskier’s arm gently as he walked away from the bed and towards the door. 

“I will be back as soon as I can,” he promised before closing the door, forcing himself to remain calm as he walked to his father’s study. There were no candles lit on the way there, allowing Jaskier to move freely along the shadows, the darkness greeting him like an old friend. 

It took him no time at all to reach the damned study - a place which he had hated ever since he was a child. He did not knock as he went in, taking no small amount of pleasure in annoying his father with those innocuous things. Jaskier had always been a little too irreverent for his father's taste, and while the man had tried to beat it out of Jaskier, somethings never quite changed. 

“You called for me,” Jaskier said as he walked in, feigning nonchalance.

“You made it just in time,” his father noted., for once not complaining about Jaskier's unfortunate habit, or his disheveled appearance. “The ceremony has been moved to tomorrow evening. The elders will be arriving at dusk to perform it, which means we must begin the ritual of the lake tonight, in order to unlock your powers before I leave with them in two days time.” 

Jaskier’s brows shot up to his hairline; if there was one thing he had not been expecting, it was that. “Rushing has never been their style. Why the hell are they moving this so fast? Even better, when was the last time they allowed anyone to take on a leadership role without a trial period? It doesn't make any sense” 

“You were under my tutelage for almost five hundred years. You have been consigned to this role since your birth. This  _ is  _ your trial period,” his father said, sounding unimpressed. "They did not inform me why the ceremony was moved, but I imagine it was because they don't hold your abiility to lead as much in doubt as real newcomers." 

“Oh great, what a wonderful time to suddenly decide to trust my ability to lead,” Jaskier replied sarcastically. 

“If I had it my way, you would not even be allowed to make decisions concerning your own life,” his father said as he stood up, entirely serious. “So let’s not, shall we? We have little time, and you are testing my patience.” 

Jaskier forced himself not to roll his eyes. He had to remind himself that he needed this man's help - at least for the foreseeable future. “Alright, what do we need to prep for the lake magic whammy thingy?” 

“Must you call it that?" His father said with a pained groan, glaring at Jaskier when the younger man could only shrug. "Come with me,” his father said finally, not bothering to wait and see if Jaskier did as told. The man picked up a golden dagger that was sitting on his desk and then walked out, his cloak billowing behind him. 

He took them down to the catacombs, which were only accessible with a pinch of his blood splattered on the rock that served as a makeshift door into the ancient room. Jaskier knew it was the catacombs because his father had once told them they were here, but the man had never showed him inside. It was as eerie as he imgined - if not worse. Jaskier suppressed a shudder; while he had no issue with killing, there was something particularly morbid about walking into a burial site, filled with those of his ancestors who had gotten too tired of the monotony of life and had decided it was better to… sleep, forevermore. There were not many that had made such a drastic choice, but there were enough to line up the room with ornate coffins, and other relics. 

His father walked them deeper and deeper into the catacombs, not saying a word as the air around them began to shift, turning frigid. Jaskier turned his head curiously. He could hear the dripping of water coming from somewhere ahead of them, but he had no idea what could be moist enough to cause such a loud drip. He also could not quite understand how the temperature had shifted so drastically from area of the room to the next - not without it involving magic of some sort. 

Soon his father stopped, standing a few feet away from what looked like a pool, filled with a red, viscous liquid which Jaskier assumed to be blood. Whose blood, however, was anyone’s guess. He was almost entirely certain he did not want to know, particularly considering the amount of power emanating from what seemed to be a very shallow lagoon of blood. 

His father pulled out the golden dagger from its sheathing, examining it ceremoniously before whispering a few words in their native tongue. The air around them shifted once more, becoming almost oppresively warm, much to Jaskier's surprise. His father opened up his sleeve, rolling up the fabric with quick efficient movements. He did not flinch as he brought the dagger down, carving a symbol into his skin. He allowed the blood to drop into the pool which began to glow softly as did the mark on his arm. 

“Your arm, Julian,” His father said, beckoning him closer. His voice sounded different, deeper in a way, more sinister. 

Jaskier rolled up the sleeve on the same arm as his father, offering it up without resistance. He kept his eyes open, though a part of him truly did not want to watch. The man repeated the procedure, letting the blood from the wound once again drop into the pool. The glow turned brighter, and Jaskier could feel a tingling sensation starting from his arm all the way to his toes and back again. The tingling was not quite painful, but it was not pleasant either. 

“What now?” He whispered, looking at the older vampire. 

“Now we wait until the elders arrive to finish the ascendance ceremony. We will be able to complete this then. We need to wait until they leave, in order to avoid them noticing the visible power difference.” 

Jaskier nodded, for once demure. He knew his father wasn’t doing this out of the goodness of his heart, and, if Jaskier was to be found out, they would punish his father too. However, he also knew that a small piece of the man, deep down, felt a deep sense of satisfaction at watching his only son finally walk in the footsteps he had personally planned out from the very day Jaskier had been born.

Jaskier was willing to give him this win, because he knew, in the end, he would need the man later and it was always better to be on his good side. 

“Make sure to cover that mark with the black fabric I left in your quarters, on the nightstand. It is made with a bit of Dimeritium, which will block out any chaos coming from the mark on your arm,” his father said as he fixed his own shirt. 

Jaskier hummed in agreement. While he knew the metal was often intended to dampen the chaos that allowed sorceresses to cast their magic, it also had some (much less known and even less so advertised) effects on other types of magic, such as the unique abilities of higher vampires. It wasn’t as effective as it was on a mage’s magic, but it was effective enough to conceal and dampen; it could even weaken a vampire if a rather larger amount was used to encase them. 

It was a nifty trick for situations such as these, where there was an open valve of power waiting to be tapped into and it needed to be concealed. Still, it was not without its side effects, which Jaskier had to be very careful to conceal, lest they realize he was wearing a fabric infused with the damn metal. That would set them on his tail like nothing else, and he did not fancy being dismembered any time soon. 

“You and the child need to be presentable and ready before they arrive. She will be required to attend the ceremony, as they will recognize her as yours,” his father warned, cleaning the dagger before putting her away. "She will have to partake in parts of it." 

“I assume I can share our truth with her, then?” He asked gently, feeling both terrified and elated. It was rare for a higher vampire to reveal themselves to a human, and it was even rarer for a human to attend such a private ceremony. 

“It would be best to keep some information to yourself, as she is still a human princess who will one day return home and will eventually rule over a human kingdom. You know how jealously the elders guard any information pertaining to our race; if she were to accidentally reveal anything, the consequences could be catastrophic - for her. Whatever you tell her she must keep to herself until the day she dies, or risk being marked a traitor, as she is only being accepted into our ranks due to her connection to you.”

Jaskier shuddered slightly, remembering the previous times the elders had dealt with traitors. “Understood.” 

His father gave him a small nod before walking back to the door from where they came from, the gesture a clear dismissal. Jaskier did not take a full breath until his father was well out of earshot, feeling his knees tremble as a sudden rush of dread coursed through him. He had less than 24 hours left of true freedom. 24 hours which he couldn’t even enjoy because he had to prepare for the coming ceremony, had to prepare Cirilla and help her process her new reality, and the man with whom he would have actually liked to spend said time with had made it abundantly clear he would rather fall on his own sword than spend another minute with Jaskier. 

So all in all, his vanishing freedom not something he wanted to spend much time dwelling on; for better or worse he was responsible for someone else now and that meant his own heartaches could not take priority. He had to remind himself why he was doing this. He could not be selfish, not in this. 

Once everything was settled, and Cirilla was  _ happy  _ and safe and hopefully back home with her grandmother, he could take the time to lick his wounds in private. After all, that was the one thing he was sure he had left; time. 

* * *

The young girl woke up with a start, the last few days having drained her to the bone. The last thing she had expected was for Jaskier to show up only to whisk her away the very same day. She wasn’t used to being away from home - what with her grandmother’s entrenched fear of something happening to her while away as it had happened with her mother. It wasn't that they didn't travel; her grandmother often took her on trips around Cintra, and even to other Royal courts when needed; the thing she wasn't used to was travelling without the woman or the comforts that came attached to her title. 

Thus, she was unused to sleeping on the ground, in the middle of a forest. Similarly, she was unused to travelling by foot as far away from roads as possible, nor had she ever walked from essentially sunrise to sundown with only a few breaks to eat whatever tasteless, non-perishable food Jaskier had packed with him. Well that and unseasoned meats that Jaskier had hunted for them every evening. She had never known him to be able to hunt, so that had been a surprise, but the man was certainly terrible at cooking them, so while his efforts to provide for Ciri were sweet, having to eat said food was difficult in it of itself. 

She of course had not dared complain, not when it was clear everything that was happening was happening because Jaskier was determined to protect her. From what she wasn't yet entirely sure. The man had always dotted on her and her mother in ways her own father never had, so she trusted that if he was now ripping her from her home it was for good reason. Jaskier always did things for a good reason. That, of course, did not stop her from worrying for her grandmother, and it did not put a lid on all the questions circling her head. 

Questions that had kept her from a restful night’s sleep for the entire journey. Questions which still plagued her now, waking her up far too early to call it morning. She looked around, frowning as she realized that she was in a bed, an unfamiliar bed, which meant she was in an unfamiliar room. 

“It’s alright, Ciri. I am here,” Jaskier said from somewhere to her left, though it was too dark for her to see clearly, as her eyes had not adjusted to the dark yet. She sat up just as  Jaskier lit a candle, likely for her benefit. That was yet another thing she had discovered on their way here; Jaskier was surpisingly adept at moving around in the dark. 

She looked towards him, icy blue eyes meeting ocean blue ones. “Where are we?” 

“We’re in Lettenhove, darling. More specifically, we’re in my father’s home - or rather, what will soon be my home," Jaskier said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I didn't want to wake you when we arrived, but if you're hungry, I can bring something up for you." 

"I'm alright for now, thank you," she said as she rubbed her eyes, before taking in the beautifully decorated room. It was very different from her own back home, but it was very clear that it belonged to a girl probably around her own age. She hoped they hadn't moved said girl just to let her sleep the travel off. “Whose room is this?” 

“Yours,” Jaskier said with a small smile, gauging her reaction. “My sister took the liberty to decorate it for you, so that you could feel more at home. I hope that’s alright. We can always change it later if you don't like it. She won't be offended.” 

Cirilla swallowed hard but managed a smile. She didn't know how to feel about having a room away from home. Everything was happening a bit too fast for her to adjust. “It’s beautiful,” she assured Jaskier in the end, because she had manners, and both Jaskier and his sister had clearly gone out of their way to try to keep her comfortable in her new home. 

Jaskier’s smile grew at her shy approval. “How are you feeling? It’s still quite early, you could go back to sleep if you’d like, since you don't want to eat yet.”

“Have you been here all night?” She asked instead of answering his question, noting that he was still wearing the same clothes as the day before - or what she assumed was the day before. She wasn't entirely certain how deep into the night they were in. 

“Maybe,” he said with a mischiveous wink that earned him a smile. “I had a few matters to take care of earlier, but after that I came to stay with you to make sure I was here in case you woke up in the middle of the night.” 

The young girl’s eyes widened with worry. “Have you not slept at all?” 

Jaskier grabbed her hand, attempting to sooth her; he often forgot how much she cared for others. “I’m alright, Ciri. I am not particularly tired, and I have gone a lot longer without sleep; a sleepless night won’t do me much harm. You, on the other hand, have not slept well for almost four days in a row now, you really should sleep a bit more. I will make sure they have cooked your favorite for breakfast, by the time you wake up again.” 

Cirilla sighed but plopped back down on the bed, burrowing herself in her blankets without ever letting go of Jaskier’s hand. “Will you sing me to sleep?” She asked quietly, feeling a bit too discombobulated to ease back into an easy sleep. 

Jaskier did not gape but it was a near thing. He had not sung her to sleep in at least three years, what with her growing out of it as she grew older. “Of course, darling,” he agreed, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. He pet her hair the way Pavetta had taught him to do when Ciri had still been quite little. He hummed a Cintran lullaby under his breath, only then realizing this was the first time he had sung out loud for someone else ever since… 

Well. Ever since. 

Jaskier shook his head and concentrated on the task at hand, trying his best to help the young girl relax in order to fall asleep. He knew she was full of questions - questions which he had to try his best to answer in the morning, but not right now. For now, all she needed was some rest, then he would deal with the rest. He closed his eyes and continued singing, forcing himself to relax as Ciri slowly grew relaxed, sleep once again claiming his precious charge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are going to be a bit of world building, before the story starts to pick up speed around chapter 9/10. 
> 
> Oh and Ciri will find out about Jaskier's true nature next chapter :D


	7. Count Julian Alfred Pankratz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to your life  
> There's no turning back  
> Even while we sleep  
> We will find You acting on your best behavior  
> Turn your back on mother nature… 
> 
> Everybody wants to rule the world  
> \- Lorde

“Have you told her yet?” Jocelyn asked him as she walked towards Jaskier so he could help lace up her dress. 

“No,” Jaskier said tensely as he did up her dress, not quite meeting her eyes as she glanced back to look at him, sure that her glare would just make him feel worse. 

“The ceremony is in an hour, Jaskier. You have got to talk to the child or she will freak out when the elders arrive,” his sister reprimanded, though there was understanding in her eyes. 

“I know I know, I just don’t know what the hell to say to her. Oh by the way not only have I taken you away from your last living relatives, I have brought you to live in a vampire-infested fortress, and I am one of them! Enjoy your stay,” Jaskier snarked, falling on the bed with a huff. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, clearly distressed. “What a mess.” 

“Stop being so dramatic and go talk to the princess! She deserves to know the truth, Julian! It will be worse if you wait any longer. She needs time to process the news," Jocelyn suddenly stopped speaking, hearing the telling sound of a human heartbeat approaching. 

She walked towards one of the hidden doors that led to her own room, all the while glaring at her brother in warning. He held back a sneer, instead standing up to open the door for Cirilla before she could knock. If she was startled, she hid it well, walking in after only a moment’s hesitance. She smiled at him, waving hello. 

“One of the servants said you wanted to see me,” she told him, fidgeting slightly with the hem of her sleeve. “I, uh, chose this dress for tonight. I am not sure if it’s okay.” 

Jaskier smiled at her, moving closer to squeezer her shoulders in a reassuring manner. “You look radiant, Ciri. And yes, I did call you, there’s a few things I need to tell you,” he said softly, walking towards the bed to sit at the corner. He patted the spot next to him, as a gesture for Cirilla to come closer. 

She sat down as requested, looking up at Jaskier with curious eyes. “What’s the matter? You look upset. Is it something bad?” 

Jaskier took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, noticing that his nails were slightly longer than usual, which meant his nerves were making his control slip. Great. “Remember, you once asked me if monsters could be sentient?” 

She nodded, looking confused. The topic had come up once, because her mother had mentioned the Witcher whose fate was tied to hers, and her mother had explained what he did for a living. She, being a curious child, had had a myriad of questions, but her mother had looked sad and had gone away, leaving Cirilla with Jaskier, who had told her he couldn't answer all of her questions, because it was a topic she wasn't yet old enough to breach. She was unsure as to why it was urgent to talk about it now, however. “You said some of them were, and that some chose to be not very nice, and that humans can also choose to be awful.” 

Jaskier nodded. “Well, there are some monsters that can choose to be good, or rather, can choose not to harm people despite it being in their power to do so. Do you remember some of the examples of sentient non-human creatures I gave you?” 

“Um, I think you mentioned werewolves, and dragons. Vampires as well I think? I can’t remember all of them,” she admitted with a blush. In her defense, this had been years ago, and she had been quite young, so she thought she could be excused from not entirely remembering what Jaskier had told her. 

“Have you ever heard anything about vampires, outside of that conversation?” Jaskier asked gently, far too gently, as if afraid of her answer. 

She shook her head, frowning slightly. “I only know they drink blood, and can’t be in the sunlight,” she said quietly. 

“Well, that’s not quite right, darling. There’s different… types of vampires. Witchers have classed them into higher level vampires and lower level vampires. Most of those they classify as lower level, such as say the plumards, are not quite as conscious as you or me. The higher a vampire is classed within the subspecies, the stronger, smarter, and more human they appear,” Jaskier explained, falling into old teaching habits which he had used many a time when he went off to Oxenfurt to teach a course or two. 

Her frowned deepend. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this, not that it's not interesting, but-” 

“It will make sense in a moment, I promise,” Jaskier said, squeezing her hand softly, pleading silently for her patience. He couldn't just blurt it out. He just couldn't. He needed to build as much context as possible, in order to avoid having her freak out. “Amongst those classed as higher level vampires there are two races that are particularly strong; the bruxas and the higher vampires. Bruxas are much - _much_ \- weaker than higher vampires, but they’re resistant to sunlight and can appear human to the untrained eye. That is until they get hungry and they cannot hide their more… monstrous forms. They tend to be careful not to reveal themselves, though.” 

“Are higher vampires also resistant to sunlight?” Cirilla asked, curiosity clear in her voice. If they were going down this topic, she may as well get as much information as possible. 

Jaskier nodded. “A higher vampire looks no different than a human, and not even a witcher can detect their true nature if they do not choose to reveal themselves. But they do not need blood to survive, and many live amongst humans. Though, like I once told you, it’s all a matter of choice. They can choose to behave with compassion, or they can choose to behave like monsters. There's been higher vampires in the past that have destroyed entire towns despite not needing blood - just because they could, because blood is intoxicating. Like a fine liquor is to humans.” 

Jaskier stood up then, and walked towards the window, unable to hold Cirilla's stare any longer. “I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you about who I am, my dear. I never told your mother, but I did tell your grandmother, before she agreed to send you with me.” He bit his lip and closed his eyes, bracing himself for her hate or - worse - her fear. “I am afraid I am not as human as I look. I am also not as young and beautiful as I look,” he quipped at the end, turning to face the young girl. 

She swallowed hard standing up and moving slightly away from Jaskier. “Are you a bruxa?” 

Jaskier shook his head, his heart clenching in pain as Cirilla took another step bawkwards. “Bruxa can only appear as women, so no. I am not.” 

“A higher vampire then,” she said, trying very hard not to show her fear, though little did she know that he could _smell_ it. “That’s why you’re telling me this.” 

Jaskier nodded, once again looking at anywhere but Cirilla. He wanted to run far away from here, far away from the awful smell of her fear and apprehension. God, sometimes he really hated what he was. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” She asked, her voice small. 

Jaskier shook his head, looking horrified back at her. He approached her slowly, careful not to touch her, before falling to his knees, his hands raised as if begging for clemency. “I have never wanted to hurt you. I loved you from the moment your mother dragged me to your nursery and placed you in my arms as a babe. I know everything that has happened is a lot to take in, and I wouldn't blame you if you never trust me again. But, if you will trust one thing, trust this; I made a promise to your mother to always look after you, to protect you, and I intend to keep it.” 

Cirilla bit her lip, and looked away. She did not move closer, but she also did not move away. “What is the danger you told my grandmother about?” 

“A dragon, who happens to be a friend of mine, had a premonition that you and Geralt would be in danger in the coming war with Nilfgaard, so I needed to make sure you were safe. I would not be able to live with myself if I left you there to die when I could have done something to prevent that,” Jaskier revealed quietly, bringing his hands down to rest on his lap. 

“But what about him?” She asked, as always concerned about others. 

Jaskier tensed slightly. “Geralt will be alright, he is a Witcher and can look after himself. I have also asked some of my friends to look after him, to make sure he stays safe from Nilfgaard’s reach. You are human Ciri; it is harder for him to die.” 

Cirilla nodded, somewhat appeased. “And what’s happening tonight? Does it have something to do with you being a vampire?” 

Jaskier nodded, a tired sigh leaving his lips against his wills. “I was born over five hundred years ago, in this very castle. I was born a viscount, given that my father was the Count of lettenhove at the time of my birth. You see vampires, like humans, have a social structure in place, which serves to keep the most powerful of my kind at the very top, making the important decisions by which the rest of us have to live. My parents were quite high up in this ladder, and so my father has been given the dubious honor of ascending onto a higher position of leadership, which means he needs me to become Count." 

"You never said you were nobility. I always thought you were a bard," Cirilla said, sounding slightly wounded, clearly wondering just how many lies Jaskier had weaved around her and her family. 

"I never wanted to be part of the nobility. I certainly never wanted to be a Count. I left specifically because I wanted to follow my own path; be a bard, travel the continent, mingle with humans. Just… a simpler life," Jaskier said, his voice thick with longing as his eyes filled with tears. "I wasn't trying to hide my title, I promise you. I was trying to escape it; but it was not meant to be." 

That seemed to appease the girl, for she nodded. "So the ceremony tonight is your investiture?" 

"Mine and my father's. He is taking a seat in the council of unseen elders - which is just a stuffy name for the people that make our most sacred laws - and I am taking his place here, as Count. And, well, in a way it's a ceremony for you too," Jaskier revealed, biting his lip. 

"For me?" She asked, trying not to gape. "But I am not a vampire." 

Was he now going to tell her that she had to stop being human? She hoped not, she wasn't sure she could handle that. 

"No, you're not, and I don't intend for you to become one but, well, you didn't think I would agree to do this job for free did you? No, I had some demands that needed to be met. You must understand, your safety is my priority," Jaskier stressed, though he did not dare to reach for the child. 

Comprehension slowly started to dawn on her young face. "Jaskier, what did you ask them to do?" 

"The council will accept to view you as my own," he revealed, his voice small. "For vampires, family ties or any form of blood tie is precious as there are relatively few of us. I know I cannot in any way replace your family, but by claiming you, it grants you all sorts of protection both from vampires of all kinds and from any human that may dare come against you. It also serves as a fantastic cover story. While you're here, we will tell people you are my daughter, that way, we eliminate any tie you may have to Cintra and we erase any trace of your true heritage." 

"And when I go back home?" Cirilla asked, taking a step forward. "I mean, I will go back home right? Won't your people be upste about you lying to them?" 

"When you go back to Cintra, you will go back to being the Lion Cub of Cintra and I go back to being an eternally _childless_ bachelor," he promised very seriously. "My intention is not to keep you here forever, Ciri. I can't give you a date of return, but that is certainly the intention." 

"Do I have to call you father?" Cirilla asked, her head slightly tilted and body slightly tensed. 

Jaskier froze, not having thought about that before. He hadn't considered her feelings, hadn't even considered her possible discomfort. God he was an idiot. 

"I don't want to make you do anything that will make you uncomfortable, but it would be best that… when in public… you refer to me as such. We can think of other terms of endearment if it's too much for you. In private you may continue calling me Jaskier," he said, trying to give her a reassuring smile that did not reach his eyes. 

Cirilla smiled, touched by the man's genuine care. She understood he was doing all this to protect her - was likely taking on his father's job for her too. It was clear he did not want to become Count, and yet he was going to do it - for her. So to be so worried about her comfort, when he was going through all the trouble to ensure there was no way Nilfgaard could find her, was quite sweet. It erased any trace of fear she might have felt. Yes, she hadn't known what he was, but this was still _Jaskier;_ her mother's best friend. This was the man that had taught her to love music, had doted on her day and night every winter. He was _home_ as much as her grandmother was. 

"I'll have to get used to it but I don't mind," she said finally. "As you know, I've never had a father, not really. He was never there when I was little. I don't even remember him. I spent more time with you and mother than I ever did him." Cirilla slowly approached the vampire, opening her arms to entreat him to a hug. 

Jaskier did not hide his surprise but neither did he refuse the child the hug she so clearly wanted. He brought his arms around her, running a hand through her soft hair in a comforting manner. 

“I am sorry I hid the truth from you. I am so sorry you have to go through all this. I certainly would never have brought you here had I had another choice,” he admitted quietly. “But hopefully it won’t be for long, and you will be able to return home soon enough.” 

She squeezed him tighter in understanding, only disengaging when he did so. “So who is coming tonight?” She asked as she laid down on his lap, looking up at him. 

Jaskier smiled at her antics, running his hand through her soft hair. “They are called the unseen elders. They are… well recluses would be too kind a word. They rarely deal with the human world, only when the desire for blood or their boredom becomes too much to handle do they venture out. Some live on their own, but the majority of elders live near one another, to address any issues concerning our race. We don’t know much about them, except that they are extraordinarily powerful, and keep to themselves. I myself have only met one of them, who happens to me a bit more friendly than the others and held regular meetings with my father when I was a child.” 

“Are they all coming?” She asked, her eyes as wide as saucers. 

“No, just two or three representatives. I don’t think they have ever come all together in the presence of us - mere pedestrians. Ascending to the position of an unseen elder is quite significant" Jaskier revealed, keeping his voice low. "It means my father is officially older than dirt, and his powers have grown enough to be worthy of ascending. It’s… essentially, they will allow him to reach further into his own power and to experience a new aspect of his own nature. As for us, they are only here to formally accept you as part of my family.” 

Cirilla bit her lip, suddenly nervous. "Is there anything I have to do?" 

"They will require a drop of your blood and a drop of mine, but I will be there to guide you through it," Jaskier promised, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "You don't have to worry, it's mostly a formality - a way to ensure you are protected from my brethren always." 

She nodded, turning to lay on her side so that Jaskier could rub her back. "What time are they coming?" 

"They should begin arriving when the sun begins to set. I should tell you...Tonight there will be no light in the sky," Jaskier said in a whisper, looking out the window to enjoy the final rays of sunlight which held inside them his last precious moments of freedom. 

Today would be a dark night, that was certain. 

* * *

Jaskier stood silently in the middle of the room, waiting for his father and the other elders to come out. They had taken his father to a different room almost twenty minutes ago, to perform whatever rituals they did for his initiation. Given how stingy they were with information, Jaskier had not been surprised that no one but the concerned party was allowed in. The only issue he had is that the more they waited the more the expectation and the dread built up inside of him. 

Would they notice the fresh wound hidden underneath the dimeritium infused cloth? Would they reject him as count? Worse, would they have the power to tie him forever to this land, erasing any illusion of choice he had left? Would there be anything relating to his life that he would still have control over, or would he merely become a puppet, with no life of his own, no choices to call his own? 

He did not have to wait much longer before the three cloaked elders came out of the room, followed by his father who was looking paler - and graver - than usual. The man’s breath was shallow, as if his body was still processing whatever it was that they had unlocked. Jaskier was sure he had never seen his father look so shaky, nor his eyes so clear. It was rather terrifying, if he was being honest. 

“ _Julian Alfred Pankrats come forward,”_ one of the elders said in their native tongue, beckoning him closer with one of his long claws. 

Jaskier walked forward, eternally grateful that the elder’s face remained hidden under the cowl; the last thing he needed was Ciri seeing one of their elders in a half shifted form. The claws were terrifying enough for a girl her age, Jaskier was sure. He looked at his sister, who immediately moved to take his place, standing between Ciri and the gathered vampires. He was eternally grateful for his sister; that woman was quickly becoming as protective of Cirilla as he was, which meant he would forever have an ally in her. 

“ _This land, and those living in it, are your blood-right. Your father has taken his place in the council of elders, and can thus no longer fulfill his duties as one of the three counts in Redenia. Will you answer the call and rise to the occasion?”_

_“I will,”_ Jaskier responded, feeling slightly weird at using their language after so long speaking the common tongue. Never once while travelling with Geralt had he allowed himself to speak his native tongue, not even the few times they had come across vampires, partly in fear of Geralt recognizing the sounds. 

The elder gestured with his hand, the movement sharp and full of authority. “ _Kneel”_

Jaskier immediately did as asked, bowing his head down for a few seconds in a sign of respect. One of the bruxas, which served in his father’s keep, hurried forward, and brought with her a rich black cloak with a red lining that reminded Jaskier of his father’s own signature clothes. The elder took it from her hands, his sickly pale skin and his spidery purple-blue veins making Jaskier have to suppress a shudder. The man opened the cloak with surprising ease considering how long his claws were, and moved to place it on Jaskier’s shoulders slightly brusquely. The younger vampire made sure to keep his mouth shut despite his need to burn the nervous energy bubbling inside of him. 

The bruxa then passed a signet ring to the elder, keeping her head bowed the entire time. Unlike Jaskier, she did not have the right to look upon the elder, as she was far below his station. The man imperiously extended a hand, clearly expecting Jaskier to somehow be okay to offer a limb to be brought into such close contact with the very claws that could rip him apart muscle by muscle. Jaskier did as requested, closing his eyes as the man slid the ring onto the pinky finger of his left hand. Lastly Jaskier’s father approached them, bringing with him the golden chain and pendant he had worn for as long as Jaskier could remember. The elder took it without any acknowledgement and placed it around Jaskier’s neck, the metal feeling surprisingly warm to the touch. 

“ _These are symbols that you will carry with you from now on, which mark your stature and your rightful place of leadership. They are symbols which hold meaning both in our realm and in the human world. Each is a gift, a privilege, and a duty given to you by the council, for safekeeping - just like this land and those under your jurisdiction. You will keep our ways and make sure those in your land do so too. You will enforce the peace, and keep us hidden. You will be an extension of the council in Redenia.”_ The elder pulled out a golden knife - which looked eerily similar to the one his father had used the night before and made a long cut along his palm. He tilted Jaskier’s head backwards and placed his hand right above Jaskier’s lips and squeezed his hand closed.

He allowed five droplets of blood to fall into Jaskier’s mouth, who had to hold back a gag at the potency of the taste. He could feel his body burning as he swallowed, something inside him shifting regardless of his will. Each item which the elder had placed on his body suddenly felt a hundred times heavier, almost suffocating him. They felt hot against his skin too, almost as if they were branding him. 

_“You are hereby bound to your duties and your role until the day you either produce an heir or find a suitable replacement if you are ever granted the honor to ascend further. Long may you serve your people. Arise, Count Julian Alfred Pankratz.”_

Jaskier struggled to stand up as the power in the elder’s blood he had consumed became a command inside of him. He manaed to rise with enough grace to not embarrass himself, but he suspected he looked much like his father; a bit overwhelmed by everything. He looked first towards his sister who looked torn between looking proud and deeply deeply sad, as she knew what this would mean for Jaskier. Cirilla was standing next to her, her eyes wide as saucers. The elder said something else, which Jaskier did not catch in his daze, but he did notice every vampire in the room - with a rank lower than his own - suddenly bowed at him which was _surreal._ His own sister, whom he had never seen bow to anyone, was currently bowing to him, her head hanging low. 

Jaskier wanted to throw up. 

He wanted to crawl back into his room and never come out. 

He had never wanted this.

Jocelyn, noticing the elder beckon Cirilla forward, grabbed her by the hand and brought her up the few stairs to the second level where Jaskier and the elder stood. 

“ _Today, it seems it is also a day of rejoicement for your clan. Is this the child you wish to claim as your own?”_

_“She is,”_ Jaskier replied as confidently as he could, grabbing her hand gently, which she immediately squeezed - whether for her or Jaskier's benefit, he did not know. 

“ _Hers is a fleeting life. Do you intend to turn her?”_ The elder questioned, his voice void of any emotions, which meant Jaskier could not read him at all. 

Jaskier tensed, knowing that he needed to weave a good enough story to appease the elders, who would not look kindly if he said no, fuck you, I am never turning her into one of us. “ _I intend for her to live a happy and fulfilling life - whatever that may mean for her when she grows up and has the mental fortitude to choose on her own.”_

The elder hummed, a sound too neutral for Jaskier’s liking, but at least he hadn't ripped Jaskier's head from his shoulders, so that was a good sign. _“_ You have been chosen… child… to receive a great honor,” the man said slowly, switching to common for her benefit. He pulled out the blade again and extended one of his claws towards her. “Your hand.” 

Ciri swallowed hard but brought her - slightly shaking - hand up to offer it to the elder. The man made a small symbol on her palm with his knife, cutting her far more deeply than Jaskier had expected. He gave her an apologetic look as she bit her lip hard enough to bruise to keep herself from screaming. The man then repeated the process on Jaskier’s palm, bringing them together to blend the blood. 

“Blood… of your blood. Flesh… of your flesh. No longer just a human, but a child of the night. From here on out… this mark will be a symbol of your place amongst our own… An attack on you is an attack against your blood-bound father, and deserving of our full attention. You will walk in our ways, and we shall keep you under our protection.” He then turned to Jaskier. “From here on out she is yours to guide and nurture, whether for a feeble moment or for eternity, will be up to her.” 

Jaskier bowed reverently in thanks. 

The elder suddenly brought his hands together and clapped a single time, the very room shaking when his power began flowing out like water. “ _What has been done today cannot be undone, may you both excel in your new roles and may this child be an asset and a joy to your family._ ” 

With that, the man turned away and all but disappeared into thin air, leaving the room as eerily as he had come in. Jaskier looked down when he felt Cirila’s much smaller hand come to rest in his, squeezing hard enough to turn her knuckles white. It was clear that she was distressed and needed Jaskier to comfort her, but he could not do so here. He needed to get her out of here and back to their rooms to offer any sort of kind word. 

“Is it over?” She whispered, her voice sounding a little strangled, unaware that everyone in the room could likely hear it. 

“Yes, darling.That was the end of it. Come now, you need to eat something, it’s been a long day,” Jaskier said as he pulled her gently, feeling like crawling out of his skin as the crowd began parting for them. He could feel the various looks of fear, pity, jealousy, hatred, and contempt that were being thrown at him behind his back. 

And yet, despite however much they may hate him, there was little they could do but bow at his feet. They were all, in one way or another, now bound to Jaskier’s will and his rule. And wasn’t that a terrifying thought? It was the one thing he had tried to run from for literal _decades._

But he had a part to play, and he was meant to look regal and strong, or there would be those that would question his power and authority. He wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and cry for a week or two, but he was nothing if not good at putting on a show. And so he kept his back straight and his chin held up high, putting every ounce of regality his father had beaten into him as he walked Cirilla out of that room full of vultures who Jaskier would have to deal with from here on out. 

He had never wanted this. 

He had never wanted any of this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I mentioned last time, these chapters are a bit of world-building, but the meat of the story picks back up on chapter 9-10. Geralt and Jaskier won't be seeing each other until chapter 12 but I have already written the chapter and BOY is that gonna be a roller coaster. 
> 
> I hope you're enjoying it :D


	8. Losing yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I am tired of myself in every way. All things, deep down to the secret of their roots, are stained by the color of my weariness.”   
> Fernando Pessoa

The unnatural pull at his very core alerted Geralt to Yennefer’s presence long before he actually reached the town. He had felt a tingling a couple of days back, almost like a voice inside his head telling him where he needed to go. He had not questioned it then, had not even thought much about it. He really didn’t question much these days. He took every contract he found no matter how dangerous, he killed the monsters alongn the way and got paid though not always in full. He avoided big towns where there would be more well known bards profiting off of Jaskier’s songs, most of which were now solely about heartbreak. Geralt found he couldn't stomach them, not the melodies and certainly not the people singing them. 

He camped and he killed. 

It was a simple, straightforward existence, and that was all Geralt could handle at the moment. Some days he felt like a walking wound, feeling emotions which he had no name for and frankly didn’t want to find a name for. He wasn’t used to feeling so much; it went against everything they had taught him. Hell, while he had always known Witchers were not heartless, he also knew as well as he knew his blade that his kind were also not supposed to feel like humans did. They were supposed to be above such weaknesses, but right now, feeling as  _ raw _ as he did, he wasn’t entirely certain the trials had done their job properly. 

Either way he hated it, and it had him far too distracted for his own good. So, no, he had not noticed himself drifting to this particular town until the pull had turned so strong that it alerted him to Yennefer’s presence. 

This then faced him with a dilemma; did he keep going in the direction of the town or did he bypass the town entirely to avoid seeing the sorceress? There were far too many variables for it to be a simple choice. On the one hand, Geralt wasn't sure if two years were long enough for Yennefer to want to see him again. To be fair, he wasn’t sure if two years was long enough to want to face her again. There was too much anger there to know how to even begin fixing something that he had broken in the first place. He was good at that, mucking up relationships with people he cared about, that is. 

But the pull wasn’t going away, which meant despite feeling it, Yennefer wasn’t trying to move or leave town despite how easily she could have done so by conjuring a portal. It was possible that it was simply the bond forcing her to stay put, forcing them to meet. It was the only sensible reason, all things considered, well that or Yennefer wanted something - which, really, would be worse because as much as Geralt cared for her, even he had to admit that none of her plans were anything short of insane. 

Still, he owed her better than running away. 

Geralt groaned, but, with that thought in mind, did not stray off course. While he was not looking forward to confronting Yennefer again, he also knew he could not outrun her. Besides, she really did deserve better than that; he had damned them both by tying their fates and, knowing her as he now did, he knew how much she had tried to avoid that all her life. So on he went, not stopping until the town inn was in sight. He dismounted roach and patted her snout, drawing as much comfort as he could from her familiar presence. He could do this; it wouldn’t be pleasant, but it would be no worse than facing a monster. 

He entered the in with a wariness he could not hide, his eyes finding the purple eyed witch almost immediately, as if the bond itself was drawing his eyes to her. He squared his shoulders and walked to the front of the inn, speaking quickly with the keeper to get a room, and a plate of food. If he had to do this, he may as well get a good night’s sleep out of it. Once the transaction was blessedly over, he walked to the bar to order a pint and then went and sat in one of the corner tables, the one that was best hidden by the shadows. He was still unsure as to whether the witch wanted to talk to him, or if she preferred they both pretend they didn’t know each other. Either way, he was leaving the ball on her court as a way of giving her space and a choice - or as much of a choice as this blasted curse would grant them. Besides it had always been Geralt’s preference to have a full view of the room, in case of any threat, and he always preferred the darker spots, where he could sit back and be less noticeable, less looked at. 

His food arrived shortly after that, and Geralt tucked in, watching Yennefer discretely from the corner of his eye. The only sign she was giving that she had noticed him at all was the tense set of her shoulders, and the way she was clutching her wine cup like she was trying to keep herself from doing something foolish - possibly like lighting the whole inn on fire or throwing the win cup across the room to hit Geralt in the face. After a few minutes of internally debating with herself, and a number of deep breaths, the woman lifted her glass and got up and off her seat, walking determinedly towards Geralt. Their eyes met and the golden-eyed witcher suppressed a shiver at the sheer  _ rage _ he could still see festering in the depths of her purple eyes. 

This had been a damn bad idea. 

“I see your bard isn’t trailing after you like a lost puppy anymore,” she commented drily as she sat down, the venom in her voice clearly meant to needle the witcher. “I must admit I am surprised to see that. Has he finally fallen into a ditch somewhere and-”

“Don’t-” Geralt growled viciously, without true conscious thought. He could not - _would not_ \- talk about Jaskier, especially not with Yennefer. He did not need all his failures flayed out by a woman who at the moment likely wanted to watch him die a slow death and who had never liked Jaskier to begin with. It felt wrong, almost like yet another insult to their friendship, to talk to Yennefer about Jaskier, when the man had hated her on sight. Although, all things considered, perhaps the bard would like it if he did tell Yennefer the truth, considering she would likely mock Geralt for the rest of time. A fitting punishment for his foolishness. 

She raised a brow at him, oblivious to his internal struggle. “Come now, Geralt. You can’t blame me for being a little curious. I may not know your singing bird all that well, but as far as I remember he was more likely to cut off his own hand or tongue rather than leave your side. It was a bit sad, even you must admit.”

And there it was, another dagger to his heart, another reminder of how he had failed Jaskier. A reminder of how llittle he had apprecitaed his friendship. 

“We parted ways,” Geralt said, his voice clipped and angry. 

Yennefer stared at him for a second, assessing him, dissecting him. She huffed out and shook his head. “You mean _you_ parted your ways. That man would have never left you willingly. What the hell did you do to him to make him go away?” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Jaskier had a life outside of me, he would have left eventually on his own,” Geralt said, his anger rising in response to the pain being inflicted upon him. He did not want to have this conversation. What did Yennefer know about Jaskier? What did she know of their relationship? Nothing is what. 

The woman laughed, honestly and without reserve, though the laughter died down when she noticed that Geralt was not joking. “You can’t possibly be that thick, Geralt. He, a  _ human, _ has been following you for, what, over twenty years now? No human does that without a good fucking reason, and your bard may have been annoying but he wasn’t a madman. If he followed you for that long, despite the fact that you were an ass, then he clearly loved you.” 

Geralt wasn’t sure whether Yennefer was drunk or he was, because what she was saying made no sense. It couldn’t make sense. He couldn't allow himself to consider that possibility. “No it’s not… we were never like that. You knew we were not… like that, you asked once when I brought him to you and I said - well it's not like that.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes at Geralt’s inability to communicate. “I thought you had just turned him down - and with good reason; he’s as annoying as they come. I assumed he just hadn’t given up on his trailing behind you despite the clear cut rejection. I didn’t realize you had just not noticed the idiot salivating over you.” 

“Let’s just… not, okay?” Geralt snapped, forcing himself not to look too closely at her words, for fear of what he would find there. He had never been good at relationships, had never really known anything other than business transactions with people that feared him. So to think that Jaskier may have had feelings for him… to think he may have broken the man’s heart…

“Why are you here, Yennefer?” He bit out, trying to find any distraction. 

The woman blessedly relented, taking a sip of her drink before giving him a lethal smile. “The same reason you’re here - your fucking wish tied us at the hip, Geralt. It’s not like I can avoid you, now can I?”

Geralt shifted in his seat. “You haven’t left, which means you want to talk about something. If you really didn’t want to see me, you would have found a way, so let’s cut to the chase. I can tell something is bothering you; what is it?” 

Yennefer sighed but relented, putting away her anger in order to concentrate on more pressing matters. “There’s whispers of Nilfgaard wanting to mobilize again. They have finished consolidating under the true heir and emperor. It seems his sights are on further expansion. A few towns have fallen already, and… well it’s not certain yet, but based on his trajectory I would assume he is heading for Cintra.” 

Geralt took a measured sip of his beer, as his mind raced. "You think my child surprise is in danger," Geralt conjectured, looking up at Yennefer in a frown. "But why warn me?"

The woman looked ready to hit him or curse him. "Not because I want to smack you over the head means I wish any harm to befall an _innocent child_ whom you should have taken responsibility for years ago if you weren't such a damn coward," she hissed, her eyes promising murder. "If Nilfgaard gets a hold of her, death will be the kindest thing they can offer her." 

Geralt sighed, and rubbed his brow in defeat. "I am sorry, I didn't mean - it doesn't matter, you're right. I may not have wanted to doom her to this life, but I cannot leave her to fall into Nilfgaard's hand either. I need to claim her, though I doubt Calanthe will be too happy about it." 

Yennefer snorted and took a sip of her drink. "You should go prepared for a fight, that woman is not going to give an inch." The sorceress suddenly reached forward placing her hand on Geralt's forearm, her eyes earnest. "Geralt, your child lost her parents, and to keep her safe you will have to take her from the only home she knows. You  _ must _ be gentle. Don't go if all you can offer her is bitterness and your hateful words; trust me, from personal experience, death is kinder than a loveless life filled with disappointments and pain." 

Geralt was struck quiet at that, unsure what to say in the face of such honesty. The woman was entirely right, he knew. He couldn't do to Ciri what he had done to Jaskier - what he had done to all who tried to care for him. He had been too harsh, had not stopped to think that his fear of accepting anything good in his life could translate into him destroying anything before it could flourish. He had not considered that Jaskier, who used his words as well as Geralt used his swords, might need to  _ hear  _ soft words of care instead of just actions. 

"I will do my best to do right by her," Geralt promised, though he wasn't sure if he was promising Yennefer or himself. He wasn't sure it entirely mattered, so long as he kept his word. 

The woman must have been satisfied with his answer nonetheless, because she released his forearm with a nod. She picked up her cup and took a sip of her drink, looking slightly uncomfortable. 

"Right, well, I should go," she said after a few more seconds, once she made up her mind. She got up slowly, giving Geralt time to reach out for her wrist. 

"I don't mind if you stay," Geralt half whispered before he could stop himself. It was foolish - incredibly, utterly foolish - but a part of him refused to let her go without at least trying to mend... whatever it was that they had between each other. 

There was a ghost of a smile on Yennefer's face that did not quite reach her eyes but was more warm than anything she had directed his way since the mountain. "I am not ready to talk to you," she said simply - an admission that hurt due to its quiet truthfulness. "I am still furious and I can't… all I have wanted all my life is my freedom, and you took that from me. And I know that you did it to save me but I…" she shook her head, rubbing her temples. "I am not ready to talk, but I will find you when I am." 

With that she got up and left, neither one feeling the need to say goodbye. Geralt sighed, and swirled his drink, his shoulders a little less stiff. He knew they would not be able to fix this for a while, and maybe it would look drastically different than what they had had before, but the thought of finally ceasing hostilities with the sorceress was a comforting thought, especially considering they were most likely stuck together until one or the other died at some point in a couple of centuries.

If only it would be as simple to find Jaskier to try to make amends. Unfortunately he did not have a magical tracker to aid him, and everywhere he turned he heard a different story about Jaskier’s whereabouts, his profession (or rather new profession if the rumours were to be believed), and even his status amongst the world of the living. It was as if Jaskier had disappeared off of the face of the earth. His songs - both old and new - were still being sung everywhere Geralt went, but never by the man himself. In some ways it felt like being haunted; Jaskier was there in every tavern he visited, in every wound Geralt cleaned himself, in every bath he took alone. Always there but never quite within reach. It left Geralt tired to the bone, and emotionally raw in a way not even Renfri’s death had managed to do. 

With Renfri, her death had been blood on his hands, it had been a wound to his system, to his heart - a heart that wasn’t meant to exist to begin with. But he didn’t actually know if Jaskier was dead or not; worse he didn’t know if it was his fault - though based on past experiences it was the most logical answer. The incertitude, and their last conversation, left Geralt hollow to the soul, left him brittle and guilt-ridden in new and horrible ways he did not much care to dwell on. 

This is exactly why he travelled alone - to protect himself and others. 

But now the princess of Cintra was in danger, and it was his job to keep her safe, to keep her happy. And, as much as his bleeding heart wanted to continue fixating on his bard, he needed to concentrate, needed to move on. He could not let himself dwell on the possibility of Jaskier being dead; he had to assume the man was still living, but was simply avoiding Geralt. Once he had her, once he was sure she was safe, he could focus on trying to find the bard again in order to apologize. 

He owed Jaskier that much. 

* * *

Julian sat in his father’s former meeting room, unconsciously pulling the shadows around him as his mood worsened with every passing minute. He watched as the town governor over articulated, likely genuinely thinking Jaskier was fooled by the display. 

Finally, once his sister entered the room and gave him a nod, he brought his hand up and signaled for the man to stop. The man did as told, despite the confusion clear in his eyes. Julian looked around the room, taking in the three higher vampires present in the room, looking at him with barely concealed derision. 

“Tell me, Mr. Barnas, did you start working with Gareth before or after I became count?” Jaskier asked, his tone conversational and soft. 

The man tensed up immediately, taking a small step back before saying “Pardon me?” 

Jaskier gave him a second to reconsider the lie, his eyes narrowed and cold. When it was clear the man was not gonna say anything else, the vampire sighed. 

“I know you’ve been embezzling funds for at least the past five years, so it’s clear your stupidity extended beyond your underestimation of me,” Jaskier said amicably, leaning back on his seat before interlacing his fingers. “However, it is unclear to me as to when you and Gareth began planning on turning against the elders by revealing our secrets.” 

Gareth, who was sitting five sits down suddenly stood up, his fangs bared. “How dare you accuse me of treason? I have been nothing but loyal to your father, and I would never-”

Jaskier raised a finger, his eyes filled with cold fury. “And I assume your clandestine meetings have been just for a bit of fun on the side? Or the letters you have been sending to some of our brothers and sisters to prepare for a planned attack on the human population here is also just you talking out of your ass?" Jaskier interrupted, sounding calm as he threw some letters on top of the table. "Absolutely loved the bit where you outright stated I am not fit to rule the territory assigned to me." 

Jaskier stood up then, slamming his hands down flat against the table with a thunderous thud. "The two of you seem to be under the misapprehension that because I took a leave of absence for fifty years that I somehow no longer know the ropes or am weaker than my father was. I am afraid today I have to disabuse you  _ all  _ of this foolish notion." 

Before Jaskier could say anything else Gareth jumped, switching forms mid jump. Jaskier's eyes turned bright red as he extended his palm, tapping into his somewhat newly enhanced powers to freeze the man in place. While his hold was not as absolute as an elder's - the man would have lost consciousness and would have simply frozen in place until the day the elder felt kind enough to let him go - but Jaskier did have enough power to impede the man's movements and freeze him in place for long enough to advance and grab the man by the throat, his own features turning monstrous. 

"Did you really think you could defy the elders? Defy me in my own territory? You childish  _ fool _ ," Jaskier said as he slashed the vampire's throat open before throwing him halfway across the room. "Gareth Eamel Zias-Rerdir, You have committed treason against the council and you have committed treason against me. For your crimes, I hereby condemn you to  _ death _ . Let it be known that I will carry out the sentence myself. Do feel free to try to fight back; it will make it that much more enjoyable for me," Jaskier said as he took off his cloak, letting it gently fall on his seat as he all but pounced on the wounded vampire.

They traded furious blows for what felt like hours, their claws ringing louder than blades every time they met. Their movements were faster than what a human’s eyes could follow, and he was sure Barnas would be getting whiplash soon enough from trying to follow their deathly battle. Jaskier maintained an upper hand the entire fight, using bursts of power to slow down the other vampire at his will - not enough to be noticeable to the others, but enough to not have to worry about losing a hand or an arm or a leg. While he could easily heal himself, he certainly did not need to go through that level of embarrassment right now. After more blows dealt and received than he cared to count, Jaskier managed to perforate the vampire's heart with his claws, pulling it straight out of his chest cavity before swiping the creature's head off with his other hand.

He took a moment to take a breath, watching with familiar resignation as the vampire immediately began to regenerate in front of their very eyes. The creature was clearly weakened, and looking more monstrous than ever as it was more muscle, tendons and fangs than anything else at this point with a wide whole in its chest. Jaskier approached it slowly, swallowing down bile as his fangs elongated even further and he jumped on the creature, perforating its regenerating neck four different times, draining it of its powerful blood. What remained of Gareth screeched in pain, but soon stopped resisting, returning to it’s human appearance as it finally stopped moving. Jaskier stood up carefully as to not to mangle the body any more than he already had and then pulled a vial from his pocket with his free hand, grimacing at the large blood stains on his pants. He opened the lid, careful not to touch it's contents, and threw the vampiric oil he had been carrying with him straight onto the remains, the liquid lighting on fire as soon as it hit the torn, corrupted flesh. 

The room was as quiet as a tomb with a paralysed-in-shock town governor as well as the other two other higher vampires who were looking at Jaskier as if he was the devli himself. Jaskier would have found it funny, had it not been his own monstrous hand holding the bleeding heart of one of his own brethren. 

"Now then, I believe it is also my job to deal with you," Jaskier said as he rounded back to the table, his features all returning to normal with the exception of the hand holding the dead vampire's heart. He toyed with the damn thing, throwing it in the air and catching it with his claws each time. He knew he likely looked deranged, and more than a bit sadistic, but he needed to instill fear into every single person in the damn room. It was crucial that an image of fearsome power be instilled in their minds. He needed to do this to spread said image as quickly and as widely as possible for the stability of his authority. 

"Your treason and your inability to bow to your superiors cannot be overlooked, Barnas. While I would love nothing more than to kill you, you have such a short and weak lifespan already, I believe jailing you for whatever remains of it should be enough,” Jaskier said as he finally took a seat, looking like he had not a care in the world.

"Wait, no! Please, I have a family. Please... show mercy," the man said, shaking from head to toe as he fell to his knees. Jaskier could imagine the horrors the man was thinking of, knowing that if he was jailed, he would have to stay in the Pankratz’ castle.

A part of him, the part he was trying so hard to suppress, felt sorry for the foolish man. 

"You should have thought of your family before trying to cheat the people out of their funds. Better yet, you should have thought of your family before going against  _ me.  _ Do you think I don't know of that adorable plan some of my own have concocted to try to kill me?" Jaskier laughed, the sound making everyone in the room shudder. "You think my father was strict and evil? Darling, you don't know who you're dealing with yet. Those that betray me will  _ wish  _ I was my father by the time I am done with them," Jaskier growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

" _ Susannah, take him to the dungeons and ration his food. Make sure the place is clean. I don't want him dying too early,"  _ Jaskier called, as he leaned back on his seat, still playing with the heart which was beginning to dissolve with each new cut. 

An unnaturally beautiful woman came from out of the shadows, standing right behind his chair for a second as she regarded everyone in the room with a twisted, sickening smile. " _ Yes, my Lord."  _

"My Lord… forgive me, but shouldn't have the elders been informed of this before executing Gareth in such a manner?" One of the vampires at the table questioned nervously once the human was taken away. “This death… is not one he can ever return from.” 

"The elders were informed yesterday, Roderick. They accepted my judgement as the right one," Jaskier said sweetly, putting up wall after wall after wall around his heart to just not  _ feel  _ an ything . "You are welcome to request a meeting and question their judgement." 

The man immediately stopped talking, sensing that Jaskier was on his last strand of patience and that his head would be rolling next if he kept questioning him. Jaskier couldn't help but feel slightly pleased to see one of his biggest dissenters finally yield. 

"You are all dismissed," Jaskier half growled, cold fury clear on his face. He got up, and tossed the heart in what remained of the fire. He watched it burn, fisting his hand to avoid having his bloodied hands shake. He retired to his room once the body turned to ashes, thanking the servants as the left the room. He sighed in relief at the sight of a bath clearly freshly drawn up for him. He pulled the clothes from his body as if they had personally insulted him, throwing them into the burning fire of the chimney. 

He did not jump into the water, as much as he wanted to - needed to - but only washed his hands, face and arms, ensuring that all the blood was gone as best he could before throwing on clean clothes. 

By the time he was out, Susannah was there waiting for him, his imposing black cloak resting in her delicate looking hands. She approached him slowly, helping him put on the cloak with practiced ease. She squeezed his shoulders in silent support. She had seen this boy grow up, and she knew how soft his heart was, knew that this was the exact opposite of who he was and, while she could not agree with such waekness, she respected him for having the balls to stand up and perform his duties without fault. 

" _ Thank you, my dear. That will be all,"  _ Jaskier said with a stiff smile in an attempt to acknowledge her silent comfort, before heading down to the main gates with a determined look in his eyes. 

He looked to the moon, his eyes switching from that beautiful sky blue into a blood bright red as he took off in a run, reaching the former governor's house in mere minutes. He knocked on the door, once again pulling on the shadows to keep himself cloaked from onlookers.  The old man living there soon opened the door, looking mightily confused at Jaskier but letting him in nonetheless once his eyes landed on Jaskier's necklace bearing his family crest. 

"Count Pankratz, it's an honor to finally meet you," the man said with a deep bow. "I am sorry for my clothing, my Lord, I was not aware you would be coming today." 

"It's fine, Mr. Barnas, I did not come for a social visit," Jaskier said with a wave of his hand. 

"Of course, My Lord, how can I help you!" the man asked, ever so politely. 

"I am going to go straight to the point, to avoid keeping you from sleep for too long. Ever since you passed on your position to your son, he has been embezzling town funds. He has also lately been conspiring with my enemies in order to reveal my people. You see, your son considered us to be threats - monsters to be dealt with if you will. My brethren of course took advantage of that, or rather the ones amongst my own that wish to reveal themselves in order to unseat me and who wish to subjugate the humans." 

The man gaped at him, horror filling his eyes. "My Lord, I swear I had no idea, I-" 

Jaskier raised a hand to stop him, trying to make himself look as non-threatening as possible. The last thing he wanted was the man to have a heart attack. "I know you did not, Mr. Barnas, I am not here for you. I am here to inform you your son has been imprisoned." 

The man staggered backwards, hand on his mouth. He tried taking a few deep breaths, his body swaying with shock. He turned to Jaskier after a few minutes, his eyes wild with desperation. "My Lord, please... you have a daughter yourself, you know how these things are, they’re young and reckless. He will learn, I… I will make sure he learns." 

Jaskier felt a pang of pity for the man, who could not see his son's fault due to love. Still, his job was now to be jury, judge and executioner. “I do have a daughter, Mr. Barnas, and I am entirely certain she would never put her own profit above the good of her people, nor would she bring me shame the way your son has done to your family, so please do not compare them. I will not bend on this, he will serve a full sentence for his foolish attempts," Jaskier said, tone hard and factions unmovable. "Now, you are faced with a choice, either I can choose a new family to be our enforcers or you can put someone competent at the head that will restore your family's name; what’s it gonna be?”

The man gaped at him. "But, my Lord, I only have a daughter left. I-" 

"I find, Mr. Barnas, that women often tend to be better at leading than men," Jaskier said gently, his eyes encouraging. "I am not opposed to a female governor, and I can ensure that the people will accept her, so long as you can assure me she will not make the same mistakes as her brother." 

"Of course, My Lord," the man said with a bow, though Jaskier could still smell his sadness and anger. 

"I  _ am  _ sorry our first meeting had to be so bleak, Mr. Barnas, but I am afraid actions have consequences. It is a lesson your son has not yet learned. I shall send someone to fetch your daughter in a few days' time so I can meet with her personally. Now, I must excuse myself, but there's much I still need to get done today," Jaskier said as he slowly made his way to the door. 

"Of course, Count Pankratz, I will speak with my daughter come morning. May I ask a small favor?" The man asked hesitantly. 

Jaskier turned back, his head tilted slightly. "You may always ask, though I may not always agree to grant your requests," Jaskier responded, hating himself for quoting his father word for word.

The man seemed to notice, for he gave Jaskier a small smile that did not reach his eyes. It was well known how cunning and harsh his father was; how cruel and unyielding. "My son has two small children. His wife will not be able to support them if he is jailed. Please… if you could help them." 

Jaskier controlled the urge to throw himself to the ground and quite possibly cry. Children had always been his weakness and to know he was essentially orphaning them... "Is it not possible that they go live with your daughter and her family? She will, after all, take over the governor's house once she begins her term, and said house is big enough to fit ten people. Look, I don't have an issue giving your daughter in law a job in my home that will pay more than well enough to support her and her family, but I assume if her husband considers us a danger, she will be more than hesitant to accept anything I offer to her. It is also likely some of my servants will be somewhat wary of her due to her choice of husband. So, the best option would be for them to stay with your daughter - I can ensure they have the funds to live there." 

The human clicked his tongue, his eyes downcast but he nodded gratefully nonetheless. "I will speak to her about the possibility of working with you and I will speak to my daughter as well." 

Jaskier nodded. "You are free to send me a letter or if you prefer to meet in person that can be arranged too. I can meet with your son's wife as well - I am not entirely unreasonable," Jaskier quipped, whether in an attempt to soothe his own guilt or the man's fears, he was not entirely sure.

Tha man chuckled though the mirth did not reach his eyes. He opened the door for Jaskier, bowing low. "I wish you a productive evening, my Lord." 

Jaskier looked at the man's bent form and felt nauseous again. "Thank you, Mr. Barnas. A good evening to you and your family."

With that Jaskier walked into the night, his figure blurring as the darkness swallowed him whole.

\--------

It didn't take Jaskier long to arrive back at the castle and it took him even less to realize that something was decidedly  _ off _ . It seemed like father dear had decided to pay a visit after two years, if the smell of fear and awe was anything to go by. He had no idea why the man was back, which made him feel decidely on edge. 

He climbed the way to his study quickly, wanting to send his father on his merry way as fast as fucking possible. After everything that had happened that day, he was in no mood to deal with the man's mental games or his cold disapproval. He was feeling like crawling out of his skin already; the man would only make it worse. 

Sure enough, he found his father sitting not in his usual seat - now Jaskier's seat - but rather on the guest seat in his (their?) study. 

"Father, I wasn't expecting you," Jaskier said as pleasantly as he could as he closed the door, walking to take his own seat. 

The man tilted his head, and smiled beatifically as Jaskier sat down, measuring his son with his cold eyes. "The rest of the elders wanted the situation examined after the most upsetting letter we received from you. You know how much they care for our laws, particularly that of revealing ourselves to the humans," the man said slowly, his voice as soft as silk. 

Jaskier hummed, supressing a hateful shudder. Instead he began drumming his fingers against his desk t release the restless energy. "Well I am afraid you're a bit too late for that. I have already dealt Gareth's sentence, and the human has been jailed in the dungeons." 

It was his father's turn to hum, a small, sweet smile on his thin lips. "You know, when I read your plans for judgement I was quite surprised," he said conversationally. 

Jaskier tensed, narrowing his eyes. "Why is that?" 

"You have always been the calm and caring one of our family. You cried the first time we told you humans have less than a century to live," his father reminded him with a tone of distaste. "I suppose I wasn't expecting you to be so... harsh or so quick to draw blood as a Count." 

Jaskier bristled at that. "There is a faction amongst our kind that believes I am not worthy of my title and should be unseated," Jaskier said without looking at his father, anger in his voice. "Gareth was part of them, that much was obvious. I need to answer strongly and decisively _now_ , to avoid more bloodshed in the future. If they learn to respect me, or at the very least fear me, it will help stabilize and consolidate my stronghold on the territory and less people will have to die." 

"My, my, and now an excellent strategist too. I must admit when you ran away I began to think you didn't have what it takes within you. Your mother was certainly always convinced of that. It seems we were wrong; being Count suits you perfectly." His father stood up and offered Jaskier his hand for what Jaskier was sure was the first time . "I can't wait to see what you do next. Best of luck, son. May you be more respected and feared than I was." 

With that the man walked out, leaving Jaskier frozen in his seat, his hand still extended. He wasn't sure how long he sat there like a statue, but it was long enough for his father to leave the castle entirely. Jaskier stood up on shaky legs then, falling to his knees not four steps later, his eyes not leaving the hand his father had touched. He brought said hand to his mouth, the smell of blood still clinging to him, as he tried to stifle the sobs that were being wrecked out of him as if by force.

Jocelyn, who liked to walk around at night and had likely been alerted by the noise, entered the study in a flurry, closing the door behind her firmly. She took stock of the image before her, her heart breaking for her brother.  She went down to her knees next to him, squeezing Jaskier's shoulders. 

" _ What's the matter, little songbird?"  _ She asked in hushed whispers in their own language, touching his wet cheek. She looked around, clearly looking for a danger that wasn’t there. 

His sweet sister, always thinking the best of him; always assuming it was someone else hurting Jaskier and not his own monstrous actions. Always looking for a monster when it had been Jaskier all along. 

Jaskier hugged his sister close, sobbing on her shoulder. "I hate this Jocey, I hate myself." 

"What happened Julian?" She asked quickly, trying to make sense of his words. “I can smell father, why was he here?” 

"I killed one of our own today, Jocey. I sentenced a human man to a lifetime in prison. I left his kids without a father," Jaskier despaired, slowly unraveling. "They were both right bastards, but  _ I  _ got to play dice with their  _ lives _ , Jocey, and I chose death, in one way or another, for both of them.” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to rip it out. “I never wanted this job, I never wanted to have to make these choices. I hate what this position is turning me into, what I have to do in order to keep my status stable enough to keep Cirilla safe." 

Jaskier buried his head in the crook of her neck. "I fear I am losing myself, Joce. Like I am… Like I am the monster I always hoped I would never be. Like one day I will wake up and all I will see is father's good little soldier." 

"Oh, Jask," his sister said, finally using the nickname she had given him as a child. "I won't let you disappear, brother. You have a child to take care of, let that be your focus. She pulls out the best in you, so let her work her magic. You are _not_ a monster, Jaskier. You never have been." 

"And what happens when Ciri is gone? What do I do with myself then?" He asked desperately, his eyes unseeing. “What will I become when she grows up and leaves and there is no more light left in this damned place?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, I have been SO fricking busy y'all I haven't had time to post. I hope you are enjoying the story!


	9. The drums of war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”  
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien,

Jaskier stared out at the old castle, it’s black gates standing in sharp contrast with its emblematic green flag which held the coat of arms. He made sure his face was not too near the window, to keep himself hidden from anyone that may be out walking, or drinking at this time of night. He did not need to be close to the light to be able to see everything, which meant he was more than comfortable staying in the shadows, unseen and unnoticed. 

Once the carriage stopped, still some ways away from the castle, Jaskier gave a perfunctory look around, satisfied with the lack of people around. That was the one good thing about smaller cities; it was easier to get in and out without anybody being the wiser. Of course, it was trickier when he was not only not alone but was travelling with a human child to boot. Still, he was nothing if not resourceful, and he was determined not to be caught. He climbed out of the carriage first, turning back to look at the almost teenage girl, who was squinting in the dark. 

“Remember sweetheart, we can only stay for a night at most,” Jaskier gently reminded Cirilla as he helped her out of the carriage, worried that her sight would betray her and she would end up falling flat on her face. “And no one can see you with your grandmother here, so keep your hood up and remember what we talked about.” 

Ciri nodded a few times, her restless energy clearly visible in the way she wrung her hands together and chewed her lip worryingly hard. She did not move more than two steps away from Jaskier, clearly waiting for the man's queue as to where to go and what to do. 

Jaskier placed both of his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them in a conforting manner before leaning down to look her in the eyes “It will be alright, sweetheart. I am not gonna let either of you be discovered, just trust me alright?” 

Ciri took a deep breath and nodded again, hugging Jaskier closer. She could not hide the shakiness of her hands as she pressed them into his back nor did she want to. If there was one thing she had become entirely certain of in the past two years living with Jaskier was that the man was not going to judge her for her emotions. He refused to let her believe her feelings were a weakness, though Ciri was fairly certain he wasn’t as great at taking his own advice, not if the way the man’s eyes always turned sad when he thought she wasn’t looking was any indication. Not when he bottled everything up and refused to tell her what it was that was hurting him so deeply even she could pick up on it. 

“C’mon, showtime,” he said with a wink, guiding her up to the castle by the hand. He held on firmly to her hand as he pulled on the shadows around them, cloaking them both in darkness like a second skin. This late, it would be difficult for a human guard to see them unless they were right in front of him, which worked to their advantage as they moved silently without fear of detection. He wasn't entirely used to cloaking anyone outside of himself, so he was sure it was more than a little clunky, but he did not care. The most important part here was to keep Cirilla safe - and, hopefully, happy. 

They reached the back gates of the palace without being disturbed or discovered, which allowed Jaskier to force the door open in blessed silence as no one seemed to be patrolling this area. He ushered Ciri in first, making sure to close the door behind him once they were through; it wouldn’t do to be caught at some point at dawn, when the cook would likely be coming to he currently empty space to pick up some eggs and meats for the visiting queen. Rumors spread fast, and he was sure news intruders even faster. 

“Stay here, Ciri, hide under a table,” Jaskier instructed as he took off his travel cloak, giving it to his young charge for safe keeping. He walked her to the table, helping her put the cloak on. . “Cover yourself with this. If you stay still, you will essentially blend in with the darkness, which will make it harder for you to be detected. I dont' want you leaving this room until it is an emergency, okay? I will be back in a minute.” 

He stayed there long enough to ensure the girl did as told, before slipping out the door. He wandered around for a bit through the empty halls, until he finally found one of the guards stationed within. 

“Oh, finally! Do you know how long I have been walking around this blasted castle looking for the maids? How on earth is there not a single one awake!” Jaskier whined like the noble he was born to be, adding the necessary flair to his movements and voice. 

The guard seemed entirely confused, but did not jump to attack Jaskier immediately. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” 

Jaskier raised a brow, pretending to be offended at the question. “Who am I? Who am I? I am one of her Majesty, Queen Calanthe’s aids. Do you not see the damn insignia,” Jaskier said exasperatedly, pointing at the golden pin Calanthe had sent him specifically for this meeting. He kept moving around wildly, like a brat not getting what he wanted when he wanted it. “I am here right now on her majesty's orders, if you must now, and I demand that you tell me where I can find a damn maid to assist the Queen.” 

The guard became flustered quickly, making a small sound at the back of his throat before he jumped into action. “Uh, right, of course, sir, please follow me. It’s quite late, so most everyone has retired to bed. King Vestlav rises early, so they get some sleep while they can,” he said as a way of explanation, trying his best to relate to the clearly flamboyant aid he did not remember seeing earlier that day when Queen Calanthe had arrived. 

Jaskier muttered something unintelligible in return as the man walked Jaskier deeper into the castle, taking him down a few floors before coming to a stop. “Here we are, some of the maids sleep here, and the cooks are one hallway over. If you’d like-”

Jaskier did not bother listening to the rest of the explanation, instead knocking loudly on the door with the youngest sounding heartbeat inside. A young woman opened the door a minute or two later, looking half asleep. She was likely some four or five years older than Cirilla, though her hair was significantly darker. Her hazel eyes widened in surprise when she came to face with the unfamiliar man looming at her door. She stumbled backwards, though not enough to accidentally let Jaskier in, before her eyes darted around wildly in search for help. 

Before either she or the guard could say anything, Jaskier began humming loud enough for both to hear, his eyes turning from their usual sky blue to blood red in seconds. He extended his hands, each pointed at one of the two mortals’ faces, and opened them wide as the humming took a life of his own. The two humans gasped as the sound got louder and louder in their heads. Jaskier allowed the darkness to rise within him, mixing naturally with the music in his very bones. His nails sharpened, though not enough to make him look entirely inhuman and he could feel his fangs trying to make an appearance. 

He looked at the young woman, touching her cheek softly. When she did not flinch away, but rather swayed closer, Jaskier nodded, satisfied with her trance, and finally said in an inhumanly melodious voice “ When you wake up tomorrow, you will remember that, at some point during the night, you were requested by one of the queen's aids to go and rekindle the fire in the Queen’s room. You will remember that you then walked to the kitchens to get a small drink of water before returning to your quarters, still feeling tired to the bone. You will be entirely certain that you slept all the way to morning after your task was done. You will be happy to share this information if anyone mentions having seen someone walking in the castle at night.” 

Then he turned to the guard and said “ You have seen to it that the Queen’s request is met. You have seen nothing out of place tonight. You will stand guard and see nothing out of the ordinary. It is a good night, a quiet night. So good in fact you will barely remember it in the morning. All you will be certain of, is that you saw a young maiden walk into the queen's room to rekindle the fire as it went out during the night.” 

He kept his hands up, the inhuman melody now emanating from his very hands as the two mortals closed their eyes, swaying in place for a few seconds. Jaskier closed his hands after a few seconds, bringing them down slowly, The red in his eyes slowly drained away, reverting back to its sky blue, though his eyes did not move from where they were trained on the two humans who looked ready to keel at any second. He did not move from his spot until the young woman muttered something intelligible and walked out of her rooms, heading to where Jaskier assumed they kept the logs, her eyes never opening. 

Jaskier sighed, repeating over and over to himself that what he was doing was for Ciri and thus using his powers on innocent mortals was not him being a cunt like some of the others of his kind with similar gifts that he had come across the ages. It was difficult to convince himself, if he was honest, when such secrecy came so easily to him. 

Not that he could dwell in the thought; he had little time as it was, and dwelling would do no one any favors. With that thought in mind he returned to the kitchens, his eyes immediately landing on his little bundle of joy who had taken her task of hidiing very seriously. 

“Come on Sweetheart, let’s get you to your grandmother. Pick up the wood over there,” he signaled with his free hand as he took his travelling coat from her, placing it back on his own shoulders. 

She did as she was told, following Jaskier out of the kitchen looking calmer than she had all night. Ciri always did best when she had a task at hand to perform. Once they were a few floors up, and he was sure there were no more guards around, he took the wood from her. He still made sure to stay ahead by a foot or two, thus keeping her half hidden with his own figure. He knew he was likely being unnecessarily cautious, but he could not risk anyone finding out that Cirilla was here. 

“She’s at the end of the hallway,” Jaskier said after a few more twists and turns, startling the young girl due to the sudden noise. He stopped to wait for her to reach him, motioning with his head for her to go ahead. 

“How do you know that’s her room?” She whispered back, more curious than anything else. 

Jaskier gave her the ghost of a smile as he muttered “I can smell her.” 

Ciri tried not to gape, but she was sure Jaskier could see her shock nonetheless. They rarely talked about his inhuman nature, likely because he did not want to frighten her, which meant anytime she reacted with anything less than perfect calm he wihtdrew that part of himself even more. 

Before Ciri could say anything to let him know she did not find him creepy or terrifying, he gently pushed the girl towards the room, letting her open the door by herself. He stayed behind, as she went inside, unable to help his smile as the little squeals Ciri let out once she laid eyes on her grandmother reached his sensitive ears. Jaskier stayed outside as the two women greeted each other, not wanting to disturb the rather personal moment despite the fact that he could hear everything. Once they quieted down and they had some time for themselves, he let himself in, closing the door and locking it behind him. He stayed by the door, locking eyes with Calenthe from where she sat on the bed with her granddaughter. 

The woman’s gaze was cold, as always, but there did not seem to be any immediate malice behind it, which meant she at least had finally forgiven him for taking her granddaughter with him a two years ago. If anything, there was a resigned tilt in her dark eyes that made Jaskier’s blood run cold. He had not been paying too close attention to Nilfgaard’s movements, sure of Cirilla’s current safety, but he did know they had begun surrounding Cintra from different sides, making it harder for Calanthe to dismiss Jaskier’s warning of the deadliness of the coming war. 

“Well, I want to hear everything. What have you been doing for the past year since I last saw you? I trust you have been keeping up with all your studies” Calanthe said very seriously as she glanced back at her granddaughter. 

Due to the secrecy surrounding Cirilla’s true location, the two had only been able to see each other once before in the past 2 years, which had worn on them both. Ever since Pavetta's death, Cirilla had not left her grandmother's side except when the woman had entrusted her to Jaskier's care. While Calanthe was rough around the edges, and would first die before vocalizing or admitting to any form of affection to any being, she did show her care for her granddaughter in other ways, and being apart had meant not being able to express any kind of love to the child. She found words difficult to communicate with, especially when it came to things such as feelings, which in turn made the whole situation more difficult for Cirilla, for she knew not how to talk to the Queen or appease her worries. They best understood each other through training - something that had been just theirs before. Still, despite it al, Jaskier’s amulet had been helpful, as it had allowed Calanthe to communicate with the girl regularly enough to not go insane with worry of never seeing her most precious treasure again. 

The girl smiled and nodded. “Jaskier has been tutoring me on all the same subjects I was learning back at home. They say I am progressing quite quickly, which means I will soon be able to move to more specific governing matters. And Jaskier’s sister has begun training with a steel sword since she said I am old enough now to train with one aside from my double dagger training,” Cirilla recounted dutifully. “She’s incredible with a sword, I think you would quite like her.” 

Calanthe hummed, considering the young girl's words. She did not answer immediately, her eyes turning to Jaskier with cold precision. “Cirilla, stay here for a bit, I need to speak with the bard.” She motioned with her head for Jaskier to follow her, taking him out of her room and out onto the ramparts, where there were no guards to overhear.

Jaskier followed easily, though he had no idea why Calanthe was wasting time speaking with him instead of spending the precious few hours she had with her granddaughter. There was nothing for them to talk about - nothing that couldn't be discussed through the amulet anyhow.

Once they reached a secluded enough spot in the ramparts, the Queen turned to face the vampire. “Tell me bard, how many of your… kind do you command?” Calanthe asked, her tone reminding Jaskier that, more than just a Queen, this woman was a fighter; a general, a commander. 

Jaskier raised his brow at her. “I don’t necessarily _command_ them, not the way you do in mortal monarchies. I simply...oversee one of our territories and enforce the rules from the council of elders. Vampires living in my assigned territory fall under my charge, but I do not really... impose my will on them as such.” 

The woman seemed surprised. “So you have no armies? No force ready to defend your people?” 

_J_ askier seemed surprise by the statement. “Eh, no not really. There’s no real need for an army, not when the only real threat to our existence is ourselves,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “Most of us are trained to fight, so it’s not like we can’t defend ourselves if something or someone is foolish enough to threaten us, and if there ever was a serious enough issue then I suppose we could gather our strongest fighters, but there’s never been a need for that.” 

The woman rolled her eyes, her frustration coming off of her in waves. “How many would come to your aid, if you asked for them?” She pressed, walking slightly closer to Jaskier.

He did not like where this was going. 

“Of my kind? Probably some ten or so, who are relatively close friends whom I have helped in my own way over the years. Of lower class vampires? All within a particular radius, as they would be compelled to obey whatever I say. Though such compulsion is rarely accepted amongst the elders and I would have to prove the magnitude of the need to get away with it.” Jaskier shuffled on his feet, uncomfortable to the bone to be revealing so much. “Why the topic of conversation, if I may ask?” 

_“_ You were right about the war, Nilfgaard has begun advancing beyond its terriroty and is gearing to bring war to Cintra,” Calanthe said, seemingly changing the topic, turning to look beyond the ramparts and down onto the castle grounds. “I have never doubted our victory, but… well, If you stand with us, victory would be all but ensured.” 

Jaskier sighed, suppressing the need to pace. He knew revealing his nature to this woman would one day come back and bite him in the ass. “I cannot do that.” 

The woman’s eyes narrowed at that and she whirled around with a snarl. “And why is that, bard?” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed your Majesty, but higher vampires do not involve themselves in human matters. It is one of our highest laws, Calanthe," Jaskier said calmly. "Many of our kind may live amongst humans, as they desire to maintain a connection to the mortal world, but there is still a divide between living in the mortal world and truly being a part of it. Staying and belonging are two entirely different things, as I am sure you know. I am already far more involved than many of my kind would like,” Jaskier informed her, trying to keep his voice even. 

His explanation, if anything, made the woman more furious. “What good is all your power if you won't use it? You see yourselves as these high and mighty beings, gods amongst mortals, who cannot be bothered to grow a spine and fight. What good are you, bard, if all you do is hide in the shadows?”

Jaskier held back the urge to hiss as his pride reared its ugly head. Now was not the time to get into a pissing match with the Queen.

Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose and said “you should quite frankly be happy we do not get involved in mortal matters, your Majesty. Your kind, as weak as you may be, kills more of your own and of all other races than any higher vampire has in history. Can you even imagine the catastrophe it would be if we were to pick a side in every human conflict?” Jaskier approached her slowly, allowing a little of the monster to peek through in the way the color of his eyes changed and the way his fangs lengthened. “If us Higher Vampires were to use our powers indiscriminately, the way humans kill indiscriminately, we could destroy the world as you know it, wipe it clean in its entirety. We do not need blood to survive; we could wipe out the human race and we would be fine. But that would destroy whatever balance exists in the world today."

Jaskier began pacing, his feathers ruffled now. "We are one of the oldest races, and the elders have lived to see most of the eras of our world. It is said that the last time we got involved, the world almost fell apart.After living a couple hundred years you realize it's best not to meddle, particularly not when human greed is involved. ” 

Calanthe looked like she wanted to argue, but Jaskier did not give her the chance, taking a step back and turning on his heel. “I will leave you two to spend some time together. Your granddaughter misses you greatly, and I don't know when the next time you meet will be. I will be back in a few hours to take Cirilla back with me.” 

“And if I do not allow it?” The woman said, her eyes taking a ferocious edge to them. She was not above playing every card at her disposal to win the war. 

_J_ askier turned back slowly, any trace of human empathy gone from his red, cold eyes. “Would you be so callous as to use your granddaughter as a bargaining chip to try to get me to fight in a war I have no part in? I loved you daughter, and I love your granddaughter, but there are laws even I cannot - _will not_ \- break. If you would rather fight a war with her in Cintra, only to watch her die in the end, then be my guest.” 

“If your prophecy is true, then Cintra will fall” she hissed. “And you would stand beside and do nothing? You would let Cirilla’s home burn because of your precious laws? You know you could help and yet you are choosing to be a bystander.” 

“Do you think I want to watch your kingdom fall? Death does not give me pleasure, Calanthe, but I am not a god and I cannot control fate. Getting involved may make things worse for you, don't you see? We don't know what my involvement might do or in what ways the elders will react to such a transgression." Jaskier shook his head, took a deep breath and decided brutal honesty was the best way to go. "Yes, your kingdom may fall, as have other human kingdoms in the past. What is the rise and fall of an empire to an immortal race? Do you think that will convince my brethren when I plead my case? That somehow that will get them to fight for you?” Jaskier looked out onto the town from the ramparts, his eyes for once showing his age. “I am not sitting on my hands waiting for your people to die like some callous bystander, despite what you might believe. I cannot save your people or your precious empire, my hands are tied on that, but I can save your granddaughter.”

“Would you kill for Cirilla?” She asked quietly, her eyes trained on Jaskier. "Or is even that not allowed?" 

The man rolled his eyes “Killing for Cirilla and fighting a war for a human kingdom are two entirely different things and you know it,” he ground out, glaring at the Queen. 

Calanthe scoffed. “Don’t be naïve. When Cintra falls, they will come for her - and for you. Their armies will turn to you and your people. And what will you do then? Say that you cannot fight? Let them take her? You say you don't want to get involved, but mark my words bard, so long as my granddaughter is by your side, you will be involved. She is the heir to Cintra - they won't just forget her existence.” 

_“_ You are assuming that they will find us,” Jaskier noted. “I can be very good at hiding when I wish to be. Not a soul knows where she truly is, and I have had her with me for two years. You know I can make her disappear so that Nilfgaard cannot get to her if I so wish. And yes, I am prepared to get blood on my hands if they ever come close enough, but I know that won’t be the case. It will never be the same situation. Fighting covertly, from the shadows, where I can keep her safe, is not the same as showing ourselves in plain daylight, fighting for a human kingdom as if we too were one of your own. I gave you my word that I would keep Cirilla safe, and I always keep my promises, which is exactly why I cannot tell you that I will fight for your kingdom. I will not offer something I cannot commit to.” 

Calanthe turned away, in the direction of her room. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. “Come back at dawn, before the sun rises. You may take her back with you then. Oh and one last thing; if she dies while in your care, I swear to you, I will come back from beyond the grave and find a way to kill you.” 

Jaskier breathed out a laugh and nodded, his eyes filled with an age old sadness. “I would expect nothing less from the Lioness of Cintra,” he uttered, certainly not for the first time and by the gods he hoped not for the last time either. 

* * *

The sound of swords being drawn as soon as he entered the courtyard with Mousesack was unmistakable and, sadly, expected. Mousesack tensed slightly next to him, clearly unsure whether to step in for the Witcher and risk his Queen’s ire, or just let them continue in their threatening stance and risk the Witcher pulling his own sword. 

Not that Geralt had any intention of drawing his sword - at least not yet. While Jaskier had done much to lessen human scorn and fear of witchers, some prejudices were simply impossible to eliminate. Add to that the fact that everyone and their mother knew that the Witcher had a claim over their beloved princess, and the desire to see Geralt’s head on a pike was almost guaranteed when it came to any place in Cintra. 

But giving in to their expectations by drawing his sword would lead them nowhere. He needed to reason with Calanthe, or she would never give in. The woman was bloodthirsty to the bone; reasoning with her through violence was not the answer, because she would never relent. She would never give in if the option of drawing her sword and beating the issue into submission was available. As much as Geralt disliked politics and the useless back and forth of dialogue, he didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn't very well kill the queen, not when the whole godsdamned point was to protect the princess. 

Geralt’s eyes landed on Calanthe, who had been speaking with one of her generals at the back of the courtyard. She looked furious as she walked towards Geralt, her sword in hand, ready to draw blood 

“I warned you about coming back, Witcher,” Calanthe half growled, her eyes promising a painful end. 

“I have been away for twelve years, and I planned on staying that way, until you sent eight men to kill me,” Geralt said, trying to keep his anger at bay. While he had not been surprised to see Calanthe’s assassin’s on his tail, he was not above using said information to his advantage in order to get the princess to safety. A part of him twisted with satisfaction at her look of quiet discomfort. She clearly had not made the fact that she had tried to have him killed known widely. 

“I am asking you now, do not do this,” The Queen muttered, acting the part of someone truly concerned of Geralt being able to claim the law of surprise. The last thing she needed was making the witcher suspicious of anything 

The Witcher’s very presence told her everything she needed to know; Jaskier had not broken his word to her. He had not revealed to Geralt where her granddaughter was. The man was not planning on giving her away to the Witcher, but was rather keeping her concealed from all - friend and foe. The Witcher could not - would not - take his precious child away which meant that, once the war was over, she could get Cirilla back. That was her end goal and dammit she would see it through. 

“I am here to protect the girl,” Geralt revealed, keeping his tone calm. He could not get a clear read on the queen, and that made him even more tense. “I am not your enemy Calanthe, but a friend. Do you even know the difference anymore?” 

“”The girl” who I have raised as my own,” Calanthe exploded, the injustice of Geralt’s claim angering her as nothing else ever had. “Why would I give my only heir to someone who never cared enough to come back for her?” Calanthe shook her head, her contempt for the man clear as the day. She gave her back to him, clearly done with the conversation. “Move along, Witcher. I will pay whatever you want. 

It was Geralt’s turn to be offended. He coudl not contain his snarl.“I can’t be bought,” he seethed, half smiling when the Queen turned back, clearly surprised by his answer. “You should remember.” 

“Money can’t undo the law of surprise,” Mousesack spoke up, looking pleadingly at his queen. “Kings who have tried to outbid destiny end up on pikes.” 

Calanthe took a deep breath, staring at Geralt like he was the bane of her existence. For once, she felt grateful for Jaskier. Her granddaughter was safe and faraway - the witcher could not have her. “And if I win the war, but lose Ciri, what victory is that?” 

Geralt sighed, taking a few steps closer as he said “Maybe that army won’t come, and if they do maybe you will be ready,” he admitted, his eyes piercing into the Queen’s own. “But if you have any doubt in your mind that she is safe here, give her to me.” Geralt clenched his jaw, and looked away to gather himself. “Call it destiny, security, or other larger forces at work, I don’t care. I will take her, _protect_ her, and bring her back unharmed. I promise you that,” he said, his words ringing true. 

“Ciri is all I have left of my daughter,” she said, her words harking back what she had once told Jaskier. 

“If Ciri survives, then Pavetta lives on too,” he reasoned, taking a step closer. 

Calanthe remained silent for a while, her mind racing. Regardless of whether she believed Geralt or not, she could not risk Ciri’s safety which was entirely guaranteed by a powerful vampire of Jaskier’s caliber. She could not - would not - take her from Jaskier to give her to the Witcher, not only because the Witcher did not have to giver her back due to the law of surprise, but also because as safe as he could keep her, the vampire was far stronger than even the Witcher. If she wanted to entirely ensure Ciri's survival, then Jaskier was the surest bet. 

Not only that but _no one_ knew the child was with Jaskier. Everyone thought she had just returned from the academy, as Jaskier had deemed it safe enough for Calanthe to bring the doppler back to Cintra in order to make Nilfgaard believe the child was once again in Cintra. She needed to ensure that no one found out the doppler was not her granddaughter, which meant she needed to trick the witcher, needed him to stop searching. 

Not to mention, she knew the man loved her granddaughter, while Geralt felt, at most, a duty to her. That was enough to make up her mind. She would do what she had to do - for her greatest treasure. 

“The law of surprise has been called,” she called out suddenly, so everyone in the courtyard could hear. “I will tell Cirilla myself,” she told the witcher, sneering for good measure. “Give me a few hours with her, you can take her later today.” 

Geralt nodded, a bit surprised at how quickly she had agreed. He had expected her to fight him harder on this, which made him wary if anything. Calanthe was not someone that gave up without a fight; something was off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. He would have to wait and see this out. Hopefully it would not explode in his face. 

Calanthe turned around and left the courtyard, for once feeling intensely grateful for the bond the former bard had formed with her child and consequently with her grandchil. At least with Jaskier she was sure the man's love was true and strong, unshakable in the face of time. At least he would certainly return her to Calanthe - if the Queen managed to survive and win the war, of course. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long, but it's been a hectic few weeks.


	10. Casualties of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "War does not determine who is right - only who is left."  
> Bertrand Russell

The familiar sounds of screams, swords, and cries of battle followed Calanthe as she walked deeper into the castle, a hand on her abdomen where blood was beginning to stain both the metal and her hand. She walked almost blindly, opening a door in the first area of the castle that was not in some way damaged or full of people and locking herself inside. The room, if it could be called that, was dark - dark enough that she could not see one foot in front of the other, but it did not matter. She did not need light to know the wound was deep and their chances of winning were slim to none. In fact, she welcomed the darkness, for in darkness reality did not seem so harsh. 

She had fought enough wars in her life to know when one was doomed to fail, and by the gods she had never actually thought she would ever be on the losing side, or rather, that her very kingdom would be on the line due to her weakness. She had learnt from a young age how to fight, because she had had no other choice if she wished to be respected. She had promised himself no man would ever conquer her, no man would have the privilege of speaking down to her. 

And yet here she was, deafeated. Weak. 

Her husband would have likely said this wasn’t a weakness; she had fought bravely and strategically to the end, but they had simply not been able to match Nilfgaard’s brute force. He would have said it did not reflect on her as a leader; a cold, weak comfort for a dying queen. But her husband was gone and with him any possible positive outlook at the disaster that this battle would spell out for her people. He was dead somewhere outside and with him had gone her hope for a tomorrow. She knew she had no choice now; she would not bow to Nilfgaard, not even in defeat. 

She reached into her armor, clasping the necklace Jaskier had given her, now over two years ago, with her unbloodied hand. She rubbed the gem with her thumb, the motion a comfort to her after having used it so many times in the past - always under better circumstances. The gem was a reminder of her granddaughter's presence, even from afar. 

“Grandmother? Is everything alright? I wasn’t expecting you to call so late!” Cirilla’s warm voice filled the dark room, and Calanthe leaned back against the wall, smiling softly in the dark where no one could see her - not that anyone of import was alive to see it anyway. 

“Hello, Ciri,” she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I am sorry for calling on you so late. I needed to speak to you quickly before you go to bed." 

"Is everything alright? You sound a bit… off," Cirilla insisted, the concern clear in her young voice. 

"Is your guardian there with you?" Calanthe asked, afraid to speak the man's name, in case the walls had ears - in the coming days, any secret regarding her granddauhter would be worth gold, and she refused to be the one to give Nilfgaard anything that could harm her. “I need to speak with him briefly.” 

“No, he’s not here, let me go get him,” she said, though she still sounded concerned. 

Calanthe closed her eyes, listening to her granddaughter’s footsteps while also listening for any noise outside of the room she had chosen to lock herself in. She wasn't sure how much more time she had left, but she knew it wasn't much. 

“Cirilla? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jaskier’s voice cut in, the worry in his tone calming Calanthe’s nerves at her decision. She could hear the love in his voice - the same love she had seen displayed every time he had visited. 

“It’s my grandmother, she called. Jaskier, she-”

“You were wise to take her when you did, boy,” Calanthe cut her granddaughter off, not wanting her to reveal anything more. “And now you must make good on your promise to both me and my daughter; you  _ must  _ watch over Cirilla. It is now your job - your duty - to raise her, love her, and protect her with your own life if necessary, do I make myself clear?” 

Jaskier frowned, eyeing Ciri with worry as the girl looked terrified up at him, as if he knew something she didn't. “Calanthe, What the hell is going on? Why are you-”

“Nilfgaard has taken Cintra,” she said, the words tasting like poison on her lips, but time was of essence and she could not beat around the bush. “You must hide her, erase any trace left in the world of her. You know they’ll come looking; either to kill her or worse. I entrust her fully into your hands - as my daughter would have.” 

“No!" Cirilla screeched, as realization began dawning on her. "No, you can’t give up. Grandmother, you have to-”

“Cirilla, listen to me,” Calanthe urged, trying to pacify the heartbroken girl. “You are the lion cub of Cintra. You are destined for great things, child. You must be strong, and you must do as Jaskier says. One day, you will have to find Geralt of Rivia - he is your destiny, and as much as I hate it, we cannot outrun her whims.” 

“No, no, grandmother, I love you, you can’t-” Ciri cried out, her voice breaking whatever was left of Calanthe’s heart. She had cursed the gods for taking her daughter from her and Cirilla, and she cursed them now for causing yet more pain to her sweet sweet Cirilla. 

“Calanthe-”

“Take care of her, songbird, and make sure to kill as many of these bastards in my name as you can,” Calanthe said harshly, before dropping the crystal on the ground and crushing it with her heel, breaking its potent magic and thus severing the connection permanently. 

“ _ NO! _ ” Cirilla screamed as the crystal broke in her hands, shattering her fragile heart. Her grandmother was going to die, and she had not even had the chance to hug her goodbye. 

Cirilla could not stop screaming her lungs out, her pain and anger sending her spiraling to the floor.  She could feel something inside her shift and break as the certainty that she would never again see her grandmother hit her like a ton of bricks. She would never again go home; She was the last of her line. She had no family left in the world. She felt detached from her body, her soul drowning in a pool of sorrow that Cirilla had no idea how to climb out of. Distantly she noticed that the ground underneath her was shaking, the walls cracking from floor to ceiling. 

She tried to calm herself down, tried to stop herself from screaming her very heart out, but she found that she could not stop. It was like she was in a trance, trapped within her own shrieking body. Terror gripped her when she noticed that the wall facing the outside, nearest to the gardens, had come down, and she could no longer see Jaskier whom she was sure had been standing to her right. Where had he gone? The castle was coming down underneath them and she couldn't see him standing next to her. 

Though, to be fair, the black spots in her vision may have been the reason why she couldn't see him and her inability to currently move from where she was rooted to the spot was also not helping. She forced herself to look around the room, though she felt as if her head was moving in slow motion. As she turned, she continued fighting with herself, finally finding the inner strength to stop screaming. The silence was deafening for a second, before the wall to her left began crumbling much the same way she imagined the other one hand, the sound of stone falling and crashing reverberating in the room. 

She tried moving out of the way when she realized that, with two walls down, the ceiling would be coming down next, but her body suddenly felt exhausted,as if she had been running for a year and had only just now managed to stop. She heard someone behind her screaming her name, and tried to turn and look who it was that sounded so desperately afraid, but before she could do that, everything went dark and she knew no more. 

* * *

Once the crystal was broken Calanthe took a deep breath and moved away from the wall she had been leaning against; there was one last thing she needed to do to ensure Cirilla’s safety. The Witcher, whom she had incarcerated, was likely still in the dungeons, but not for long. She was no fool; if push came to shove, the man would get himself out of there, especially with the battle aiding him in keeping the guards distracted. If anything, he had likely stayed thus far because he thought Cirilla was in the castle with her grandmother and he needed to collect her. 

As much as she hated it, Calanthe knew that he was Cirilla’s ticket to truly remaining hidden. Everyone and their mother knew her granddaughter was tied to the thrice damned Witcher, thus Nilfgaard would likely start their search by trying to find said Witcher. They would hunt him like no other, and, considering Geralt's distinctive features, it would be difficult to remain hidden for long. If her granddaughter came into his care now, she would never be free. She would have to live in the forest, likely living on whatever fruit and meat the witcher managed to find on the road to avoid Nilfgaard's hunting party. 

She could simply not allow that. 

She left the room, looking both ways to make sure no one was around, before she headed down to the dungeons. She grabbed the keys from the last guard still stationed by the dungeons, holding back a laugh as she imagined what he was thinking. His Queen, always so stoic and feral, now looking wounded and tired, coming down to the most likely of places to make her last stand. She did not say anything to the young man, knowing that her time had never been this precious. Instead, she just walked into the dungeon, making a beeline to the cell they had been holding Geralt in. The Witcher was, thankfully, still there, though it was obvious the man was seconds from breaking down the door to get himself out. 

He was unable to hide his surprise as soon as his eyes landed on Calanthe, not having expected the queen herself to come to release him. He raised a brow at her, but did not comment as she opened the door, leaning heavily on it. 

“I need you to listen very closely, Witcher,” the woman said quietly, in case anyone was near, still clutching her wound with one hand. “Cirila is not here, she hasn’t been here in a few years.” 

The Witcher’s brows shot up at that, worry clear in his eyes. “What?” 

“I sent her away, with someone close to my family. They are in Lettenhove,” she said meaningfully, her voice no higher than a whisper, assuming the Witcher would know she was talking about the bard without her having to actually say his name. “Nilfgaard will be looking for you - it is imperative that you drive them as far _away_ from that town as possible.” 

Geralt frowned, looking at her as if she had lost her mind. “It will be safer for her if I go get her and take her with me,” he reasoned, unsure why Calanthe was suddenly so willing to share information with him. "She is not safe there, Calanthe." 

She shook her head. “She is well cared for and well protected where she is, you fool. If you want to help, you will do so by ensuring Nilfgaard follows your track far away from her. Grab a child, any child, and lead then on a wild goose chase. That is the best you can do for her,” she finished grimly, turning as the sound of screams got closer. “You need to get out of here. Find a horse and ride away as quickly as possible.” 

“Calanthe-” 

The woman growled, grabbing him by the arm and tugging hard. “GO!” 

Geralt hesitated for one more second; he could smell she was wounded and in pain. If he left her, he was entirely certain she would die. They both knew that, and yet the woman seemed to have made her peace with that, or, at the very least her priority had changed. She knew as well as he that Geralt did not have time, nor could he afford to care for the wounded Queen if he was to make it out undetected. The war was over and she had lost; but her grandchild was still alive, and that was worth more to her than anything. 

And so Geralt walked away from her, quickly searching the guard’s quarters for his swords and the rest of his armor. It was thankfully not difficult to find as it was all sitting in a wooden box which did not seem to have been touched since Geralt had arrived. He quickly rearmed himself, kneeling down to pick up his bag, still filled with all the potions he had been carrying when he had arrived in Cintra. In that, at least, Calanthe had had mercy; everything was still where it was supposed to be, which meant he was fully stocked should he need to enhance himself to fight his way through. While he hoped not to need it, he was also not an idiot; it was likely that there were mages roaming the courtyard fighting for Nilfgaard, which he had no compunction killing if it meant leaving in one piece to find the girl.

Surprisingly enough, he was able to exit the dungeons and the castle without any issues, quickly heading to the stables.  Once he was out of the stables, and near the castle gates, he stopped, freezing at the sound of a loud thud somewhere near him, which was quickly followed by the smell of blood. Calanthe’s blood, to be precise. He turned around and, like he had assumed, Calanthe’s body laid on the ground a few feet from him, her once fiery eyes now lifeless, and her face expressionless. Geralt was unsure if someone had managed to best the wounded Queen, though, knowing her, it was most likely that she had jumped from the window on her own, preferring to go out on her own terms. Calanthe was a woman of action and she did not accept losses; more importantly, she was someone who would gladly greet death before bowing to any man. 

He looked around the burning courtyard, thankful that he had not yet been seen; he could still get away without Nilfgaard being alterted to his presence. He walked away from the fallen Queen, using the shadows falling around the castle to keep himself from being seen. He was close to the main gates when his grip on the horse faltered as a terrible pain pulled at his chest, making him gasp in surprise. 

He pressed against his chest with one hand, but the feeling did not waver in the slightest. If anything, it got worse.  And just like that Geralt was entirely sure that Yennefer was in danger, or soon would be, which was causing their forced bond to go haywire as it tried to pull him towards her, no doubt. 

With a growl, Geralt gripped the rains tight, forcing the horse to break into a run past the gates and into the city. He had to find Yennefer, ensure her safety, and then he had to find Lettenhove - wherever that was. 

* * *

“Did you find anything?” Jaskier asked softly, wincing slightly as Jocelyn scrubbed his back clean, the smell of vampiric blood fresh in the air. 

“Well, I haven’t exactly had much time to do research, but based on what I was able to find about her family line, it would seem that she has Elder Blood running through her veins. Her line is filled with extremely powerful chaos wielders, like her mother, though why her powers have decided to awaken now, I am not sure, nor do I know why her grandmother showed no signs of magic throughout her life.” 

“Cirilla just lost her grandmother, Joce” Jaskier reminded her dryly. “Her magic was likely triggered as a physical manifestation of her pain. It was an emotional response. Her mother was much like her; You should have seen Pavetta when they tried to attack her husband.” 

Jocelyn hummed, sighing softly. “I would wager the child is more powerful than her mother was. I have heard the story of Pavetta’s scream at the banquet. It was strong, but she didn’t bring down the damn building. One - short - scream from Cirilla, and the entire room collapsed,” she reasoned. “To be honest, I am not entirely sure if her powers are like those of other mages; in all my years I have never actually come across anyone who possesses Elder Blood.” 

Jaskier groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I don’t know either. I have never been too keen on magic, you know that. I don’t even know… well I don’t know how we can help her," he confessed, sounding slighly unhinged. "Our powers do not come from chaos, Joce, and, even if they did, we do not wield our power the way sorcerers do. How can we help her control something we have no real experience with? Hell, how the fuck do we even help her control it?” 

Jocelyn bit her lower lip, moving the sponge away from her brother's back. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we may need to call on a sorceress to train her, if her powers continue to grow. If they are activated by her emotions, and she cannot control them, the amount of damage she could cause is immense. Nothing will aid Nilfgaard more than an episode like this in order to locate her.” 

Jaskier groaned in annoyance, picking up the towel from where he had left it on a stool near the bathtub. He dried himself quickly, before turning to his bed to pick up a set of soft, lose clothes to sleep in. 

Jocelyn rolled her eyes at her brother's antics. “Julian, you cannot avoid the issue by ignoring me, and you know it. She is going to need help, brother, and while we can try to teach her control by helping her deal with her emotions, a sorceress will be better suited for the job, especially as she grows older.” 

“Tell me, dear sister, how many mages have we come across that are trustworthy?" Jaskier said with false sweetness, his eyes hard. "I will _not_ ask help from the brotherhood - I would rather cut out my own heart than have anyone from Aretuza take Cirilla away. Pavetta would come back to haunt me, if she heard me even considering such a notion." 

“Surely there are-” suddenly the woman stopped talking, her eyes turning to the door, where she could hear human footsteps approaching. 

She glanced at Jaskier, worry clear in her eyes. It was quite late at night, which meant Cirilla had had a nightmare bad enough to get out of bed and willing to go searching for Jaskier. 

True enough, the young girl walked in, her eyes red rimmed and her body shaking slightly. Jaskier approached her slowly, wanting to comfort her but also not wanting to scare her or, worse, trigger her. The last thing they needed right now was to have Cirilla’s powers snap again. If this room collapsed, the entire wing would go with it. 

“Sweetheart?” he said softly, not daring to touch her until she acknowledged his presence in some way. 

Her lip trembled and she stumbled forward without a word, her eyes glassing. She buried her face against Jaskier’s stomach, tears spilling immediately. She clung to his clothes so hard her knuckles were turning white and, before long, the young girl was full on crying, great big sobs wracking through her body. Jaskier picked her up wordlessly, walking them both to bed so he could sit at the edge and rock her back and forth like he used to when she was younger and her mother had just died. He remained silent until she calmed down a bit, all the while running a hand through her long, blond hair. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked quietly, still holding her tightly against his chest so she could feel his chest rise and fall with deep breaths. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” She asked quietly - so quietly that, had he been human, Jaskier would not have been able to hear. 

“Of course, my darling,” Jaskier said comfortingly, picking her up once again to carry her to the other side of the bed. He held her with one hand as he lowered the sheet, placing her down on the bed gently so as to not startle the seemingly shell shocked girl. Once he had tucked her in neatly he moved back to his preferred side of the bed, giving his sister a nod as she quietly slid out of the room - shelving their conversation for later, once Cirilla was asleep again. 

He laid down atop the covers and once again gathered Ciri close, petting her hair as he hummed a lullaby, knowing that she would tell him about her nightmare once she felt ready to speak as she alwyas did. 

“I saw my grandmother… being run through with a sword…” she whispered, her face hidden against Jaskier’s chest. “And then… I… I was in a mountain, or a hill, I don’t know, and there was a woman there. She had raven black hair and purple eyes. She was beautiful,” Ciri said, her tone sounding mournful. “There was fire everywhere, all around us, it… It was just pouring out of her, and she… she seemed to be in so much pain. She wouldn’t stop screaming. And I couldn't help her. I couldn't do anything!” 

Jaskier froze, his muscles locking in place almost painfully. Raven hair and purple eyes. Jaskier would be able to recognize that description anywhere. 

Cirilla was dreaming about Yennefer. 

Whether it was a premonition, or destiny meddling in Cirilla’s life, Jaskier did not know, nor did he want to know. But he couldn’t very well leave it alone, now could he? 

“Is it the first time you dream of her? The woman, I mean,” Jaskier said, his throat feeling too tight to say much else. 

“No, I… I have seen her in my dreams before,” Cirilla revealed, driving a dagger through Jaskier’s heart at the words. “Not often, though. I didn’t think it could be real, but today it felt… it was different. It felt so real, like she was standing right next to me.” 

“You do not need to worry about her safety, Cirilla. It was just a dream,” Jaskier said with a sigh, not quite thinking about his words as his mind raced in regards to her dreams. Was Yennefer in danger? Had the dream been in real time? Was the woman dead? 

Ciri froze in his arms. “You talk about her as if she really was real as if… you know her,” she said slowly, looking up at the vampire with suspicious eyes. 

“I may be mistaken, but based on the description, I believe you dreamt about Yennefer of Verenberg. Considering your… powers have awakened… well, I don’t really know, but they may be influencing your dreams. She is a very powerful sorceress - and Geralt’s love,” Jaskier said after a while, knowing that it would only make it worse if he lied to the child. He had promised himself, after he had told her about his vampirism, that he would not lie to her about anything else. “I don’t believe she’s in any danger, Cirilla. She is extremely talented at wielding chaos, and wouldn’t run headlong into danger without some form of plan. But I will send someone to look for her, so I can reassure you with a bit more information. So rest for now, my dear. It’s been a long day, and you need to rest.” 

The girl nodded, finally settling down, though it was clear neither her grandmother, nor Yennefer, would be leaving her mind anytime soon tonight. So Jaskier remained where he was, running a hand through her hair and humming her favorite lullaby quietly enough to lull her into sleep. Once the girl finally gave into her exhaustion an hour later, Jaskier extricated himself from her death grip, slowly as to not wake her. 

He then stood and went to open his door so his sister could once again walk in, though he walked them to the balcony, to let Cirilla sleep in peace. His sister watched him for a second, weighing her words as she could see her brother was frazzled already. 

“Just say it, Jocie,” Jaskier said with a sigh, hating when his sister acted like she had to handle him like he was made of glass. 

“Cirilla is dreaming of a witch, whom you know, which you mentioned is romantically tied with the Witcher” she stated the obvious. “Perhaps she could help us train the girl.” 

“She is not just romantically tied to him - well, was, at any rate - she is bound to him by a Djinn. It makes sense that Cirilla is dreaming of her, since, in a way Yennefer is already tied to Cirilla’s life - as they both are intertwined with Geralt one way or another.” Jaskier growled in frustration, leaning against the rail with his elbows. “Finding Yennefer will not be easy, and, quite honestly, it will only be inviting trouble. She is power hungry, and I don’t trust or like her. Besides, having both of them here will all but guarantee that Geralt will somehow make his way here, and I am trying to avoid that as much as possible.” 

Jocelyn sighed. “You will have to admit, to yourself at least, that when it comes to this woman, you are biased, my dear. Are you avoiding her to protect Ciri or because you can’t stand the sight of the woman that has what you have craved for the past twenty years and never got to experience?” 

Jaskier did not reply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long in updating, life has been hectic. I hope you're enjoying the story!

**Author's Note:**

> SO I never thought I would write for this fandom but then I got a fic idea which I thought would just be a fic bunny and after writing the first 9 chapters I realized it was gonna be a long fic. I just kinda maybe needed to get my emotions out okay? Bc game geralt can be a real dick and that shit should have consequences. SO. Fyi there is no bashing of any character in this fic, I love them all (they are all, however, quite flawed, and that will definitely be present in the fic).
> 
> We know very little about higher vampires, so I am going to be world-building for the beginning of the fic. Not gonna lie THIS SHIT IS GONNA GET REAL ANGSTY. but it will have a happy ending, I promise! 
> 
> Some chapters will have Jaskier's POV, some will have Geralt's and some will be mixed. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!


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